Wolfenstein: The Rising Run
by Anime Borat
Summary: This story is based on a variation of the New Order timeline: The world is cut up into three blocs: the Third Reich, the Allies, and the Japanese Empire. Yet it only takes a few people at the right place at the right time to make a difference. Follow the adventures of a group of teens as they uncover the fate of their fathers, against a state that seemed all but powerful.
1. Qoud Expeditionem Italica

**Wolfenstein: The Rising Sun**

A/N: This concept was three years in the making, inspired by encountering Carpathia2013 in Deviantart and his awesome alternate take on _Wolfenstein: The New Order_ 's timeline, where Japan remains a power whereas in the game Japan was squashed and turned into a puppet state. There aren't a lot of visitors in the Wolfenstein archives so the prospects of this story having a wider readership are slim, even with the success of _Wolfenstein 2: The New Colossus_.

I've already done two such stories, _Eyes Only_ and my crossover, _Black sun Rising._ My own take on the _New Order_ timeline about Japanese-American kids fighting against Imperial Japan of all enemies. What they have in common is that their fathers served in the 442nd Regimental Combat Team, a unit of Japanese-American soldiers serving in the US army and were one the most highly-decorated units during the Italian Campaign. They have to team up with other resistant, who loathe because they are Japanese. . In addition to fighting with their allies in spite of the flak they received from them, they also want to know about what happened to their fathers(although the group would also include other war orphans whose fathers served in the war). Though they won't figure much the Allies, led by the Commonwealth in Australia is a third player in my story. They have access to Da'at Yichud tech, which prevents them by being overwhelmed by the Reich or the Empire, but still doesn't keep them from out of the war: there's still fighting in Africa and Australia sets up a defensive perimeter which stretches from the Cocos Islands in the west to Pitcairns in the east. Also, there will be many historical characters which my characters will interact.

This fic will portray technology based on real-life developments in our world as well as from other games like _Bioshock_ , the _Resistance_ trilogy by Insomniac Games, a spot of _Dishonored_ and _Command and Conquer: Red Alert._ Really ambitious considering my efforts in other fics. Don't forget to tell me how you like it.

Disclaimer: _Wolfenstein_ franchise now property of **MachineGames** and published by Bethesda Softworks. Inspirations by different source matierals belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

* * *

 **Qoud Expeditionem Italica, Anno Domini MCMXLIII-MCMXLV** : **An introduction**

 _The place became a battleground once again as the Allied Armies did battle with the Wehrmacht. The Italian Campaign, an offensive which promised so much for the Allies during 1943 was finally renewed with the intention of pushing the Wehrmacht out of Italy and chase them into Austria, then into the heart of the Reich. Northern Italy was no stranger to the ravages of warfare. The ancient Romans, whom the the former Fascist Party styled themselves as the heirs to, moved up to conquer their neighbors during the early years when they were still a republic. Hannibal of Carthage crossed the Alps to invade the Eternal City. Julius Caesar pronounced the die was cast as soon as he crossed the little Rubicon with his army from Gaul, an act of treason under Roman law as the river formed the western boundary of Roman-controlled Italy to defeat his rivals and in effect paving the road which would see the rise from the ashes of the republic one of the most powerful empires the world has ever seen. And when the Roman Empire slid into disorder, barbarian tribes from the north laid waste to loot and plunder the capital, setting the beginning of the Dark Ages, from then on, a long list of conquerors came and went through this cockpit of Europe: Lombards; Franks; the famous Swiss mercenaries; Slavs from the then Byzantine-controlled Balkans; and finally the Holy Roman Empire which protected the country under its wing as the Kingdom of Italy where its emperor as also took the throne. There was a brief moment of peace under the Holy Roman Empire and neighboring France buckled under the Hundred Years War. This allowed the rise of city-states throughout the north which increasingly challenged the Empire's power and fought among themselves for supremacy. With the Empire's waning influence they eventually founded the Renaissance, an age of enlightenment and prosperity in Italy not seen since the glory days of the Romans. This only attracted the growing envy of others - and each other - enough to spark war once again in the 16th century._

 _During the interregnum of foreign wars, the business of battle was fought by the mainly mercenary armies of the city-states, but they turned war into a science, a profitable business venture, and act of politics, remaining largely bloodless as it was more of a game to outsmart their opponents - who may be their comrades in the next battle should their employer offer a more lucrative contract. The condotteiri, the men who led these bands of professional men-at-arms, became adept at the cutthroat, double-faced politics of the Italian peninsula, who often switched sides, dictated terms to their nominal employers and rose to power. This trend did not prepare them for the coming storm._

 _The second phase of warfare in the north brought the French, the Spaniards, the Germans, the Swiss, the Italians themselves, so much more, even England and Scotland, into the fray for fame and fortune, the north being overrun by invading armies crisscrossing the land, leaving death, destruction, and despair in their wake. The Reformation headed by a former German monk Martin Luther only intensified it by adding a religious dimension to it, Protestant armies marching south to rape and plunder. In in the early phase of that dark period Niccolo Machiavelli wrote his magnum opus,_ The Prince _, a controversial treatise on cutthroat politics, its reception after being published scandalized many people, for it frankly discussed the the devilish ways which a ruler ought to run his holdings. Truth be told, however, was that it was a manual, written by a man who was so disillusioned by the sight of his country being torn apart by foreign depredations and internal strife because no ruler was strong or wily enough to unify its squabbling people into a true nation._

 _Everyone played for keeps, which brought even the Church, and the Ottomans and their nominal Balkan subjects into conflict. These wars ultimately won the north, already broken and despoiled of its former slendor, to the Hapsburg monarchs of Austria, heirs to the Holy Roman Empire which then only existed in name. Again the peace in its place, which stagnated the entire country, was merely an eye of the storm when Napoleon Bonaparte crossed from the Alps again to defend the nascent French republic against monarchist forces of the First Coalition. He then took the war into Italy, turning much of it, especially the North, into client republics that were essentially puppet states to his empire. He did not conquer all of Italy down south and French presence was limited to the wealthier north. The Second Coalition pushed him out of the boot while he was away from the continent fighting in Egypt but he came back to push out Coalition troops after the Battle of Marengo._

 _He consolidated his hold there through his client republic scheme, introducing republican principles to its people and intended to attached Italy with France once again, crowning himself King of Italy with the Iron Crown of Lombardy at the Milan Cathedral. It was to be short-lived. Napoleon's enemies rallied under the Third Coalition and the Congress of Vienna restored the status quo of late 18th century. It only awakened a new unity in the Italian people, the ironic, unintentional legacy of Bonaparte, which would have far-reaching consequences for the 19th century. Throughout the boot nationalistic ferment was in the air, calling for the Risorgimento, the Resurgence. The north was divided between French under the restored Bourbon dynasty and the Italians' old masters - and enemies - the Hapsburg Austrians. Much of the efforts by Italian nationalists was directed against the latter. The mid-19th century saw violent revolutionary activity throughout the boot, every time the authorities try suppress it it only fed kindling to the fire, spreading the idea of a united Italy like wildfire. Men like Giuseppe Garibaldi, with the connivance of Count Cavour and the King of Naples, spearheaded the march to nationhood, fighting forces that resist unification, mainly the aristocratic rulers who tried to resist the tide and the Austrians. Their efforts eventually saw the founding of the Kingdom of Italy in 1861 but full unification was accomplished ten years later after annexing the Papal states. The young Italian nation then joined in the superpowers club._

 _It was a mixed one. Italy joined the colonies game and acquired Somaliland through a series of treaties from the local elite. They tried to invade Abyssinia but they were bitterly defeated by forces under Emperor Menelik II in Adwa. It humiliated the young nation who then made good by joining the Eight-Nation Alliance during the Boxer Rebellion and some yeras later declaring war against the Ottomans to take over their province of Libya. Although a winner, it was a costly enterprise and Italy did not get a crack at power and territory again until the Great War of 1914-1918. They broke their previous treaties with Germany so they can join the war to expand their empire at the expense of the dying polyglot union of Austia-Hungary, the Hapsburgs' domain and the last incarnation of the Holy Roman Empire. What they thought was an easy war was a bitter struggled in the cold Alps awashed with blood, the Italian Army failing to achieve its objectives, made even worse with a country lacking adequate infrastructure to support them at the start and hamstrung the ever-infamous bureaucracy of their country's government, made even worse by the appointment of Luigi Cardona as commander-in-chief, an out-of-touch aristocrat whose tactics did not match the reality of the war or the requirements of fighting in one of the most inhospitable fronts of the war, his only redeeming feature was ramping up the nation's production to support her armed forces in the face of withering, incompetent, self-serving bureaucracy, blamed the fighting men for his defeats and was only replaced after the Capporeto debacle in order to continue the war. When the war ended, Italy was like winner who came out like a loser. The Balkan territories with ethnic Italian majorities that it had coveted so much were given to the new Balkan nations instead. Furthermore, Italy was bled dry by the war and most of its fighting men were outraged at returning to poverty after sacrificing so much for their country. The revolutions that shook the postwar world threatened to split the country apart and it allowed the rise of one veteran of the Apline front, one-time communist, and newspaper editor Benito Mussolini._

 _He founded an ideology called fascism, a rightwing form of nationalism. An old Latin word, fasces, a bundle of wood with an axe, which symbolized the power of the law during Roman times. It was eagerly adopted by Mussolini and his followers as an emblem of their new ideology, an authoritarian and reactionary one. The state assumed power over its citizens and suspended their rights. It was enthusiastically received by a population so disillusioned by the old older's failure to solve the nation's ills. They were attracted to his powerful message of patriotism and the promise of a spiritual rebirth of the country - back to the glory days of the Caesars. Under him Italy really improved steadily but he was realizing that his country would be for nothing if not a world power. He flexed his muscles by invading old Abyssinia, now Ethiopia, to increased his holdings and avenge Adwa as well as intervening in Spain on the Nationalist side. He warmed up to Adolf Hitler, who adopted his ideology into a unique German variant called Nazism. However, his foreign adventures put a strain on the economy and the Second World War broke out, he tacitly switched to neutrality, much to the consternation of his German allies. He then declared war as soon as France was on the verge of defeat but his forces were thwarted by French troops guarding the border and Germany had to intervene in order to end the Western Campaign which was all but won at that point. Then he tried again at North Africa and Greece but his forces, while initially successful, were defeated and needed Germany to bail them out. It was made worst when the Italian Navy was hit by Royal Navy aircraft at Taranto, this was a start of humiliating defeats culminating in Cape Matapan, which ended the navy as a serious threat to the Allies in the Mediterranean. In fact the navy will play a role for the Allies once the tide's changed._

 _The conduct of the war turned for the worst for Italy until it was defeated in North Africa, followed by Operations Husky and Avalanche, brought the war home and Mussolini was ousted by his people, who celebrated his fall in the streets while defacing every element of his regime they can find. Yet, it was far from over. Nazi Germany, realizing the sudden exposure of their southern flank, immediately deployed their forces, some whom diverted from the Eastern Front, under Field Marshal Albert Kessrling to Italy to close the breach. The Germans defended the vital high ground of Monte Cassino and subjected every Allied attempt to take it. The daring Allied landing on Anzio was stopped because of the Germans responded immediately and effectively against the beaches, the Allied force was only saved by the timely intervention of American general John P. Lucas - whose forces should have exploited the gains made in the initial success in the first place! The blunder was compounded by his replacement Lucian K. Truscott, ordered by General Clark to turn to Rome rather than cutting of the German Tenth Army's lines of communication, allowing them to withdraw from Cassino and into the Gothic Line of defenses Kesserling prepared. The price for such prestige victory was a long, painful struggle for the boot._

 _Allied forces were forced to fight for every inch ground against Wehrmacht forces, having only made it north through sheer determination in the face of stiffening resistance from a cunning and ruthless enemy. Then the tide swung against the Allies: Hitler authorized the deployment of chemical and biological weapons against the Soviets, first against Leningrad, then at Murmansk and_ _Arkhangelsk_ , _cutting off the vital Arctic lifeline and weakening the Red Army before the pivotal battle of Kursk, which saw the first major use of helicopters when several Luftwaffe squadrons equipped with the new vehicles provide tactical air support to the Heer, from reconnaissance, overwatch, to ground attack and logistics. The battle saw the first major use of vertical envelopment when the 91st Airlanding and 5th Mountain Divisions landed via helicopter behind the enemy's rear and seized the high ground on the village of Olkhovatka after its defenders were stunned by a surprise bombing raid that included powerful bombs that used coal dust to devastating effect, then defending it from a vigorous counter-attack with only Luftwaffe support until relief came with the panzer spearheads while an Axis skytrain of obsolete Junkers Ju 52/3m flown by Hungarian, Rumanian, and Bulgurian air forces flew logistics throughout all stages of the offensive. Among those killed was General Georgy Zhukov, who died of nerve gas poisoning. The loss of so many men including a good portion of its officer corps struck a debilitating blow on the Soviet Union, carrying it a long way to its defeat as the Red Army was saddled with reverse after reverse that broke its back in Moscow, pushed further east to Kazan, which left large numbers of Soviet soldiers to capture with only few diehards turned partisan._

 _The blackest day of the war for the Allies came in June 6, 1944: D-day, an ambitious and risky operation that promises to carry a massive army across the English Channel to engage Hitler's forces in northern France and open a second front for the Russians, ended in disastrous failure after the Germans deployed weapons developed by Wilhelm "Deathshead" Strasse's Special Weapons Division, sending hopes of ending the war in Berlin by Christmas down crashing. In Eastern Europe and in the heart of the Reich itself, two great men, distant family, met in secret: Field Marshal Erwin Rommel, the Desert Fox, meets with his relative Polish general Juliusz Rommel', along with representatives of the Czechoslovakian resistance, to coordinate a secret insurrection which aimed to topple the Reich, victorious from Kursk but sustaining horrendous casualties casualties from chemical warfare, which caused a shift in public opinion. Juliusz's escape was arranged, afterwards he acted as contact for the plotters. The two plots, the attempted assassination of Hitler in his East Prussian bunker and the Warsaw Uprising, were brought to spectacular failure, which brought wholesale destruction for the plotters and their sympathizers and further cemented the power of the SS. Erwin committed suicide to buy time for plotters' families including his own to escape while Juliusz was killed in action._ _This saw the might and renewed vigor of a Wehrmacht armed with new weapons, pushing the Allies back to the south._

 _England was once again sufering a new and more terrifying Blitz, embattling the RAF and USAAF while the Royal and US navies attempt to keep the sea lines of communication open from a renewed U-boat campaign, both seem hopeless as losses mounted by the day. Now it was up to Allied forces further south and the push for the conventional phase of war against the Germans while their battered comrades muster up what strength they can get to hold on, planning a daring operation that would shorten the war by eliminating Deathshead..._

 _The free world holds its breath and waits..._

* * *

 _Prologue, coming soon. Last line from the first Ghost Recon game's trailer. In reality it is unknown how Erwin Rommel and Juliusz Rommel' are related but it's no more true than the extent of the Desert Fox's knowledge and involvement of the July 20 plot. If it were for real such an opportunity for two momentous events to happen in summer of '44 would have changed the course of the war, only being the Wolfenstein universe they fail spectacularly and the Nazis are hardly forgiving to contests against their rule. The Japanese did perform research over guided munitions as well as radar but R &D was severely hampered by their Army-Navy rivalry._


	2. Prologue: Ain't No Cherry Blossoms Here

**Prologue: Ain't No Cherry Blossoms Here**

A/N: This chapter has been three years in conception from an idea that began as a tiny seed in my head. I have never done any sort of war drama before so it may come not what I'd envisioned. My thanks to _Peacekeeper 37_ , _C V Ford_ , _Bob the Turtle_ , _foxtrot813_ , and _KV1789_ for their reviews, their suggestions, and encouragement. You won't find much in the way of characterization since this is a prologue chapter, part of two actually. It will also feature equipment of my own devising, especially in the light of the timeline diversion in _New Order_ , the United States army has to at least have weapons that can properly combat the war machines devised by Deathshead. It's been quite a a trip for me to get this chapter up and running. Sorry for the great length. Enjoy and don't forget to review or PM me.

* * *

 _May 2, 1945  
_ _Northern Italy_

 _Dearest Irene,_

 _We've spent two years here and two years the tide has turned against us. The Nazis have stomped us at Normandy and things in the Pacific aren't looking real good. I don't know how we managed to ruin this. Whether the Germans have smarted from their defeats or we were to blinded by our successes to see writings on the walls I can't tell. It's spring in Italy, the situation hasn't improved but that's no guarantee I'll be safe either. I can't tell you much because of the mail censors are out in full force but I can say this: we will be moving out soon. I hope it would for real this time. Don't know if I can take much more of this._

 _How is our Clara? Did you all get the presents me and boys prepared last Christmas? It's been three years since I volunteered, three years since I left Manzanar for basic. I hear she's making progress. She's finally walked on two legs by her own and said her first words. I wish was with you, Irene. To be your husband and father to our little girl, our princess. I just hoped that I get back from the war intact, that I'm good enough to be her father. I want to celebrate birthdays and Christmas with you. I wanna see our girl grow up, graduate, get married with a good man and have kids, make us grandparents._

 _Me and the guys are doing fine although I still feel bad over losing Mark Tanabe, Yoshi, and Ito last winter. I feel even worse you had hear it from me and you have to break out the news to Akari, Jane, and Mrs. Abe. I just wish this to over but I can't. We have to win this. Hopefully, we return to a far better world than one that died back in '41._

 _With all my love and hope,  
That wonderful man you met under the stars, Adam._

* * *

 _Morning of May 3..._

Outside of Padua two men kept watch at their place on the line, far forward than usual. It was an observation post set up to provide advance warning to the rest of the line should the enemy come in force. They were cold, they had been on watch since the other night, taking turns rest and keeping vigilance in the frontier. Except for a few minor skirmishes and the occasional artillery barrage, it was mostly quiet in their part of the war. The spring air was welcome for it steadily replaced the nip of last winter. Small comfort as the air remained cold and dry, making it seemed like the air was full of icicles.

"Lousy," one of the GIs said, peering warily from their perch among the trees, watching the barley fields below the slope. On the northern fringe of the fields was the enemy, the Wehrmacht, entrenched in a thick hedge where a vineyard lay behind. The fields had lain fallow having been not worked but unharvested barley gave the impression of muskeg with fresh green shoots growing out of the ground. It was pockmarked with craters and littered with wrecked armored vehicles, part of a desperate and miserable seesaw of a holding action that lasted all winter. Two latest victims however lay there, two M19 Deerhound armored cars, victims of land mines laid in the relatively static front and sinking slightly in the spring mud.

"Division says we're gonna move out again," his companion said. "Scuttlebutt has it that they've been preparing all winter." There was always been talk, always been scuttlebutt, yet any man in the Italian front had became cynical and wary of anything that come their way, any news of a promised breakthrough. But a breakthrough as all they craved for. Anything to finally break the deadlock and end the war.

The first GI sighed wearily, rolling himself carefully to avoid raising his head above the low cover the grass afforded them. There was sporadic artillery fire along this relatively quiet front all week. Two GIs have died on the hilltop next to theirs as a result. "You sure about that?"

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" asked the other man testily. "'Course it be, Rick. Normandy was a clusterfuck. We ain't got no other place to go." The tone of his voice was tense, frustrated. Operation _Overlord_ , the much vaunted invasion of northern France which promised to cut the war short, ended with a disastrous shamble, which had shaken everyone in the Allies, soldier and civilian, politicians and generals, to the core. The Third Reich, a beaten lion after that had a runaway string of victories, once again the beast that the world feared back in 1940.

"Even with all the help we're getting, I don't even know how we will march up the those mountains into Berlin." He continued to the watch the valley floor below. No doubt the Germans themselves were stirring awake, ready to greet the new day. They can spot men rousing around their positions and the faint smoke, most likely cooking fires farther behind their line.

"God help the poor bastards." It was an epithet, to both Axis and Allie, as they spent a good part of '43-'45 wrestling control over the boot, inch by bloody inch. Whoever was going to take their place in the line today was going to need it.

* * *

The camp was flurry of activity as men and vehicles created a buzz, feet and wheel alike trampling the spring mud which clung to fabric and rubber then dried up. The smells of activity from unwashed men, smoke from countless warming and cooking fires, fuel exhausts mixed with the cold humid air, was warmed by this activity , giving it it at once a scent of a farm and a garage. Trucks were loaded and unloaded, crates and boots banging the flatbeds' floors, the engines of tanks, trucks, jeeps, and half-tracks purred. Orders and responses were volleyed all over the place that men need to talk loudly to each other. This moving circus of death and destruction was greeting the day as they got ready yet again to put on another show of chaos against the enemy. The air itself wasn't still as aircraft flew over the sky, piston-engined birds droned loudly like wasps while brand new jets roared like dragons as they sortied against enemy lines in preparation for the coming attack. The rotary blades of helicopters, brand-new novelties a year ago, buzzed over the air as they took cargo everywhere whether it was fresh casualties, supplies and troops.

Among the many troops inside, most of the 442nd Infantry Brigade have been roused awake, ready to for the day's bloody work. Most of the men lined up for breakfast while others sat in their bunks tending to their gear, preparing for a battle that was same as everything they've been for the past three years. Most of them have spent a good portion of the winter on and off the battlefield, awaiting yet for another day to begin.

Inside the company command tent, Captain James Tanaka and First Sergeant Reuben Mikagi of Able Company, 1st Battalion, were reading recon reports from last night's patrols and reviewing the map showing the enemy's disposition as per intel. It would be another bloody day's work for the Nisei boys again.

"Jesus," was all Reuben can muster from his lips. It was disgust in his voice. "How the hell are we gonna make progress up this goddamned boot?" Last winter's fighting had not been kind to them.

A soldier poked his head into the tent. "Sir," he said, saluting as the officer and sergeant stood up. "Regiment wants all officers and NCOs at the CP."

"Shit," cursed Mikagi. It caused the soldier to winced.

"Damn," Tanaka whispered softly. They both stood up tiredly. Tanaka shouldered his Thompson .30 carbine while Mikagi took his Winchester M30 rifle, which replaced the Garand. He noticed the soldier was equipped with the rifle. It was a marked improvement over the Garand: short-stroke gas piston which lowered recoil; a choice of ten or twenty-round solid hard plastic magazines, select-fire option, overhead rail to fit scopes, and an optional muzzle device, both to lower muzzle jump and launch grenades. The Doron and plastic armor plate vests they're wearing intimated that new recruit.

"You new, Private?" asked the sergeant.

"Uh, y-yes sir," he replied. He, like them was Japanese-American. He spoke clear English in spite of his strong accent. "I shipped out of Camp Shelby, sir, from last month." His own vest made him look like he was wearing a barrel.

"Where're you from, soldier?" asked the sergeant.

"Pasadena, sir. I was interned with my family at Gila River."

"You won't have to call us sirs for much long," said the Captain. "You can call me Captain, Cap, or Skip. Sergeant Mikagi here likes to be called Sarge or Mik, if you live long enough to earn the right."

The soldier's expression calmed down. He must be from one of those hidebound traditionalist families, James thought. Kid needs to know he's among friends.

"You have to earn the right," added the sergeant. The boy's face broke. "But you'll earn it soon enough. Plenty of Jerry to fight. Just stick with the guys who put their time in here and you'll be fine."

The lightened expression fell. "Yes, sir." He saluted smartly and left.

"That kid's trying too hard," said the sergeant.

"He's eager to prove himself to the old-timers." He picked up a Lucky Strike from his pocket. His lip caught it and he lit it with a Ronson. He offered one to his CO.

"Arigato," he said gratefully as he accepted it. Smoking is not a healthy habit, he knew but to a soldier it's the least of his worries since he count his life in days, often hours in combat. He lit it with his own lighter. "He's better than what most outfits get. The replacement depots send in so many green troops that you might think they're the damned greengrocer." The look of disgust scowled his face. "And those boys don't have time to get find their place among the guys, so many good men died as a result and top brass just keeps sending them like so many cattle as soon as they completed basic."

"The Germans at least train theirs, and assigned them accordingly before deployment." It always irked him the German Army was always a step ahead of them in everything while the Pentagon was dragging its feet from every bloody nose they get. It also reminded him of their former commanding officer, John Dahlquist. He always thought the old bastard hated them for being Japanese so he constantly sends them to the meat grinder.

"It's a good thing the regiment has its own system of replacing losses. We'd be down to nothing for the losses last year." He was glad the Army had enough sense not only to replace Dahlquist but to promote officers from their own ranks. He loathed the old bastard even more, now he was probably flying a desk in Washington. "Though intelligence gets the best of them." Japanese-Americans with a particular skill or talent were often forwarded right away to perform intelligence work in the Pacific and Far Eastern theaters.

"You have racism to thank for that," the captain grumbled. "If they applied that grocery-store/butcher shop policy on us, every boy from the camps and Hawaii would be torn to bits by every Yellow-hating yahoo in the army."

"Don't think we got enough dirty looks from those yahoos?" he asked wryly.

"I don't care for the shit we put up with as long as we're making some progress." He drew a puff. "As soon as we can take Berlin, the sooner this goddamned war is over. For us anyway."

"No push into Tokyo for us?" Mikagi asked.

Reuben shook his head. "They'll suspect us of treason, of turning our guns on them as soon as we hit Japan. They're not wrong. I might turn my gun on them for not letting me fight there." Mikagi had his own story why his family left the islands, the Home Islands they called it. But it was a story for another time. "Regiment's waiting for us."

They always called it the Regiment but they have been expanded, by order of presidential decree, to brigade status. Fresh troops were needed and the deeds of the 442nd had slowly seeped into the newspapers and airwaves, with soldiers from other units testifying of their courage, skill at arms, and resilience in combat, slowly redeeming the Nisei in the eyes of the American public. A lot of men from from the camps and Hawaii had turned up for recruitment, swelling the ranks of the 442nd and they were lead by their own officers now, men who survived to graduate from Dalhquist's course in combat proficiency, leadership and hard knocks. The 442nd now possesses some tanks and mobile artillery, divided into smaller groups for the tasks they were given that day.

* * *

 _Yesterday..._

All the officers assembled at the Brigade CP where the discussed their mission for the day. Clearly the spring offensive has began. At the last days of autumn and all winter they battled the Axis. Now the static warfare promised to come to an end.

"Gentlemen," began Colonel James Isaac Dewitt. "Our objective: Padua. Fifth Army will commence Operation _Taipan_. Padua will be the stepping stone on our drive into Austria and hopefully Berlin. Division will spearhead the assault on Padua, with the British 5th Infantry and 1st Canadian Armored Brigade moving up the coast on our left flank, our 36th Infantry and Free French 1st Armored on our left. Following behind us is the rest of the Allied 15th Army, including the 18th Corps of the Italian Co-Belligerent Army: three infantry divisions, one alpine mountain regiment, three armored regimental combat teams and Corps artillery. Don't worry, the Eyeties won't surrender to the Krauts. They already surrendered to us before." Everyone laughed. The Italian Co-Belligerent Army, created after the Italians deposed Mussolini and went over to the Allies, had been treated as a joke by many Allied soldiers. Yet things change. Their ranks swelled phenomenally after Hitler issued a threat to reduced their country via scorched earth policy, and it was after the disastrous Operation _Overlord_. Overnight, Italian POWs held in America, Britain, Canada, and India demanded to fight in the Co-Belligerent Army to save their homeland and this was supported by Italian expatriates. The Co-Belligerent Army, along with the the Navy and Airforce was eager to participate in the liberation of their country.

"A good dumping ground for all the old gear we're replacing," noted Tanaka.

"No shit," answered a fellow officer.

"We are to punch a big enough hole for our helicopter troop carriers to get through the flak defenses and reinforce the opened breach. If we can take kick the Krauts from Padua we can get our roadshow running. I'll leave the details to Majors Ramsey and Jameson, my S2 and S3 respectively." He gave the floor over to them.

"Gentlemen," began Jameson, "as you know, our main opposition are the IX SS Mountain Korp and the V SS Panzer Corp, two of the German Tenth Army's elite fighting formations. IX SS has 7th SS Mountain Division _Prinz Eugen_ , 13th SS Mountain Division _Handschar_ , 118th Jaeger Division, and the 369th (Croatian) Infantry Division. V SS has the 21st Panzer Division, 16th SS Panzergrenadiers _Reichsführer-SS_ , 8th SS Cavalry _Florian Geyer_ , reinforced by elements of RSI 1st 'Italia' Bersaglieri Division. On the right flank, facing the British is the German 1st Parachute Corps, an element of Kurt Student's 1st Parachute Army, consisting of the 1st Parachute Division, 91st Airlanding Division, and 9th Luftwaffe Field Division, with armored support from _Kampfgruppe_ Reinhard, consisting of elements from the 501st Heavy Panzer Battalion and 511th Heavy Panzerjager Battalion. An estimated 200 to 250,000 men, with more than 3,500 guns, 1,500 armoured vehicles of all types including 370 tanks."

"Sounds like the entire Wehrmacht already," noted Captain Riku of I Company, 3rd Battalion.

"Indeed it is but they are facing the might of the entire Allied war machine. Elements of our 8th Fleet, the Italian Co-Belligerent Navy, and British Mediterranean Fleet will provide firepower from the coast in the form of naval gunfire and carrier-based air support."

"How about enemy air cover?" asked Tanaka.

"Given the threat of the Luftwaffe reinforcing after Kursk and Normandy, we greatly reinforced our tactical air support including several squadrons of the brand-new Lockheed P-80 Shooting Stars and Gloster Meteors for the Brits. The Co-Belligerent Airforce is outfitted greatly for tactical support, including P-51s, Spitfire Mark XVs, P-47s, Hawker Typhoons, de Havilland Mosquitos, and A-20 Havocs, B-25s, B-17s, and B-24s."

"That's impressive, sir."

"Hammer the Krauts like shit!" The sentiment was greeted with joyous uproar as the men were hoping for a break on the deadlock.

"Should be. This is the big push. They know it too. They've been moving new hardware including superweapons during the last few days. The mention of superweapons left everyone's blood cold. Already the Germans were fielding a new terrifying arsenal like the jets and glider bombs they used to smash the Normandy invasion or new anti-armor missiles. But the have even worse things in their arsenal like the Ubersoldat, a monstrosity of flesh grafted to steel. Unyielding, unmerciful, horrifying.

"I'll let Major Jameson brief you on enemy disposition and activity during the last few days including the presence of super weapons." The operations officer began to detail them everything their was to know about German defensive deployment around Padua. They listened intently. Jameson explained to them the latest news on superweapons including disposition, and deployment with intelligence provided by aerial reconnaissance, prisoner interrogations and Italian Resistance.

"Sobering briefing, huh?" Mikagi asked.

"Very much, sergeant," agreed Tanaka. "Let's bring all our boys up to speed tomorrow."

* * *

At the battalion CP they were informed that Operation _Taipan_ was starting already. The whine of shells travelling through the air before ending in thunderous booms, the thunder of jets and propeller-props raining their ordnance on German positions, T34 Calliopes and T40 Whizbangs, mounted atop converted M10 Gun Carriages and towed carriages respectively, started their screeching chorus to pepper the enemy with rockets like so many arrows at the battles of Crecy and Agincourt. So everyone picked up the pace.

The officers and their NCOs gathered around a table with a map and figures displaying the placement of both Allied and Axis units, with their respective strengths, estimated in the Axis's case.

"Alright, gentlemen," declared Dewiit. "Let's see what's waiting for us at our sector."

"We are facing the 36th SS Panzergrenadier Regiment, part of the 16th SS Panzergrenadiers; some elements of the 3rd SS Panzer _Totenkopf_ ; 2nd Black Brigade _Danilo Mercuri_ ; and SS-Volunteer- _Gebirgsjäger_ -Regiment 13 _Artur Phleps_ from the 7th SS Mountain Division."

"3rd SS Panzers?" asked Tanaka. "It wasn't in our briefing yesterday. Did they just arrived?"

"Yes, they did, just after midnight in fact according to resistance and OSS intelligence in the area. That brings in an additional one hundred-seventy tanks and another hundred SPs, not to mention 20,000 more men and and less than a hundred artillery."

"A lot of hardware in the hands of some of the toughest sonsofbitches in the whole German Army, sir," noted First Lieutenant Jack Hinemaya.

"I'm afraid so, especially since we might run into them in that cauldron today." He turned to Tanaka, commander of Able Company. "What do you think, Tanaka?"

"The Germans have been shifting their positions all night," Tanaka said as he studied the map. "They've brought in two batteries of PAK 38s and one battery PAK 40 over here," he traced his finger along a line. "Dug in at this sites in the treeline here, here and here," he pointed his finger on the location of the AT batteries on the map. "They're protecting their flanks."

"Last night's recon indicated the Krauts brought up a Stug platoon from the rear," his sergeant said.

"True but they're not gonna commit them to the front," voiced the leader of second platoon, Baker Company, Allen Oromi. "They'll be held in reserve to combat any breakthroughs."

"SS have 120mm mortars dug around these positions," said Richard . "With those they've got our sector within range."

"The army will screen our advance with smoke and surpress enemy defenses."

"Mines? How about mines?"

"Engineers indicated that our axis of of advance weren't sown. No disturbance was found on the soil."

That drew a snort from leader of third platoon, Baker company, Lt. Yusuke Sagara. "Yeah, right. They told us that before the Luftwaffe left us nice presents, damned butterfly bombs."

"Good news is that we'll be accompanied by armor, including Jackson tank hunters hanging back to snipe Kraut positions and minesweepers. The tank boys will be loading on Willie Pete."

Everyone liked the sound of that. The M36 Jacksons sport their answer to the German 88, the 90mm M3.

"How about superweapons?" inquired Oromi.

"A company of super soldiers were spotted inside the city but according to them, they've deployed them to defend key points within the city, nothing forward." He pointed on the map. "The telephone exchange, city hall, the intersection, these two chokepoints right here," he tapped the locations. "They also have Venom heavy Gatlings set to the rake any assault on the main approaches into the city square."

"Shit. Just like Rimini," noted Tanaka, cringing. It was their first encounter with the Venom Gatling guns used by the Wehrmacht. They saw them tore through the ranks of 45th Infantry during their assault on the town of Rimini in under a minute. They were sent to cover the division's withdrawal and lost a platoon and half's worth to the deadly weapons.

"Now it's gonna be hell," the colonel added. "You trained with flyboys on close-air support?"

"Yes, sir, we drilled with the airforce liaisons," replied Tanaka.

"Good, that's what I like to hear, especially since we've allocated considerable air assets to this operation."

The briefing was over and the officers went back to their respective units.

* * *

"Able Company, assemble on the CO!" said the first sergeant. The other NCOs rounded up their wards. Now all of the men were brought together to be briefed of the coming battle. One of the soldiers who crowded around was Lewis Hitori Takahashi, a firebrand from the camps who joined up rather squalor in jail after he got into a fight with some of his pro-Imperial compatriots.

"Hey, boss," Takasashi asked his sergeant. "Who'll we meet today? Krauts or Eyeties?"

"Can it, Takasashi. We don't know which sort of cannon fodder is coming our way." Jack Hinemaya, hearing it over the din, did not approve of racial slurs. They had enough of that the moment their country entered the war on December 7, 1941. Just as it was the day of infamy for the United States Navy's Pacific Fleet, it had been a black day for his family and neighbors. Overnight, Japanese Americans have became enemies of the state. Suspicion and even violence had visited them in their homes. He, his family, and thousands of others were taken by federal authorities to be interned in camps for fear of a fifth column among them. All over the West Coast, Japanese-Americans was rounded up and concentrated in places like Manzanar. Their compatriots in Hawaii were somewhat better. They were too valuable to the islands' economy for that but in its place was harassment and discrimination.

"We'll were cannon fodder ourselves, at least under that bastard Dahlquist," he pointed out, his tone lowered in the presence of an officer. Their former regimental CO had been an unpopular man among the Nisei and to see him gone and replaced by an officer who properly used their skills was a gift from heaven.

"Yeah, well, the Nazis had been using Russian POWs and other schmucks in their Ostbattalions," answered Hinemaya. "Here, they've got Italians to do the dying. Regardless, anything that shoots at you shoot back."

"Boy, I wish I could shoot Dalquist, and shoot those hillbillies from the Idaho National Guard, and those Tojo-fuckers from Manzanar." Lewis harbored some resentment towards the traditionalists among his compatriots. Rumor had it he got involved in a fight with some officer from the homeland.

"Yeah, we had to fish you out of that bar in Rome," pointed out Private First Class Akio Matsushima. "You were docked seven days' pay and dropped from Corporal to Private."

Takahashi glared at Akio. "Who died and made you judge, Akio, goddamned Tojo-fucker? Just because your dad had enough lettuce and status to send you to college stateside doesn't mean you get to boss us around." Matsushima, who was was studying at Stanford at the time, was deeply sensitive of being the son of an Imperial Navy officer. On his first day in basic, he treated as a pariah by most of the men.

"Cool it, Tak," said Kenji Maki, going between Akio and Lewis. "The kid's put his time in as any of us."

"Yeah, yeah, I know," he acknowledged reluctantly. "He got to fight with us but that's because he was listed as a US citizen rather than an honest-to-goodness Tojo. If it wasn't for him, I'd be playing baseball, Major League-"

"Keep your mouth zipped, Lew," added Ray Mori, a burly shoemaker from Pasadena. He was "Your punk ass has plenty of fight to go for today." He carried the brand-new M13A1 Johnson Light Machine Gun, a replacement of the good-old Browning M1919 .30 cal, following the German philosophy of blending light and medium MGs into one. It was an improved variant of the M1941 Machine Gun, with a longer, heavier quick-change barrel and a strengthened receiver better able to take the rough-handling of its users while dishing out lead anywhere between two hundred to nine hundred rounds a minute. It did away with the recoil operation in favor of a gas system based on the BAR's, saving a lot in weight.

"Hey, calm down, Mori," Lewis replied. "Where we're going, I don't think Jerry cares whose jumping the gun nowadays."

"Jerry doesn't care who they sent in the firing line these days, he just needs to plug the holes in his line and he'll certainly plug you."

"I'll plug him first," said Arthur Higa aloud. "You don't know when to shut do you, smartass?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "Dunno, must run in the family."

Jack decided he had enough pre-battle drama. "Smartass. Get back in line. We gotta a long day ahead of us so I suggest you save your strength for fighting over there."

"Yes, Lieutenant." He replied. Now the news was being broken down for everyone, listening to it like many such briefings before, hoping it would lead to a battle that would break the deadlock.

* * *

A trio of soldiers came over to them carrying duffel bags. Unlike the the others they sported crisped clean uniforms and their faces where clean-shaven, with no hints of dirt. "Hey fellas, check out the new guys."

"Wanna introduce yourself to them ?" asked Mori, eyeing the green troops.

"Nah, you do it, they're not going anywhere even if they looked a little lost."

"Yeah, I suppose so." Mori grunted as he approached the trio.

The replacements stopped on their tracks when the big machine-gun toting corporal came over to them. They saluted him smartly. He saluted them back. "You must be the some of replacements we expected three days ago, only you came late to the party."

"There was a bit of problem with our paperwork, sir," answered one of them in a Hawaiian accent, which came out a little rapidly, like he was trying to impress the hell out of him and that he'll chew them out for their tardiness.

"Don't call me _sir_ ," he chided lightly. "I am Corporal Ray Mori, Able Company, first battalion and welcome to the 442nd Brigade Combat Team. Bad day with paperwork? That's the army for you. He addressed the first one, "Let's start with you. What's your name, Private?"

"I'm Jiro Ishikawa from Honululu, Corporal. Shipped out two weeks ago."

"My name is Bernard Gotou, from Pasadena, California," said the second.

"I am Chester Kubou. I use to live at San Francisco before I was interned in Manzanar with my family."

"What paperwork problem did you have?"

He saw three of them wince. All there was between them was silence. "Well?" Mori was starting to think what _paperwork problem_ meant.

"We sorta botch up it up, sir," Jiro finally admitted, his face red.

His eyebrows went up. "What do you mean you 'botched it up?'"

"We had Kubou do all of our paperwork," Gotou spilled out as well. "We thought it was a good idea at the time."

"Yes, sir," Kubou said, ashamed. "It was my idea. I used to do secretarial work in the Onodera Import-Export trading company before Pearl Harbor. I thought if I take over our paperwork we could go faster..."

Mori held up his hand. "Alright, enough. You're telling me you were three days late because you took upon yourself to do your fellow troopers' papers in addition to your own?"

Kubou gulped, fearing the chewing-out that was to come. "Yes, sir," he answered sheepishly.

"And you might have made some errors along the way? And this time don't call me _sir_."

Kubou managed a nod.

He took another look at the trio, a disappointed one. "Remember, you three. Paperwork is your responsibility and _yours_ alone. There's a difference between helping out and doing your classmate's entire gradeschool homework." He sighed deeply. Kids, he thought. "Anyway, you're here, that's what matters. Report to First Sergeant Senrima of Fox Company. I hear they're a little shorthanded, probably expecting you. Stick with the guys who put in their time here and you might survive. And oh, don't forget to put on your Doron Plate/Plastic Armor vests." He touched Jiro's helmet for emphasis. "That tin hat isn't gonna do any good for your chest or gut."

"Yes, Corporal."

"Maki," he called out. Maki came over. "Take these boys to the armory first, then Sergeant Senrima."

"Yes, Ray." He turned to the replacements. "Alright, fellas. Follow me and will get you kitted out." The trio followed him to the battalion armory, just a tent half-buried on the ground with camo netting above it, walled in with sandbags. Inside Maki signed over a requisition form by a supply clerk and the four went int.

Inside were boxes of ammunition from the humble .30-06 to ammo for the army's newest weapons like the 3.5 inch rockets for the new Super-Bazooka and 40mm shells for the Federal Laboratories' new High/Low Shell Gun and its bigger cousin, the United Defense M31A1 auto-assault cannon, a licensed-made version of the Canadian-designed Inglis-Vickers, a high/low smoothbore modification of the Vickers S Gun. It was to be main weapon of the M44 troop carriers used by the army as they slowly phased out the half-tracks. There were 57mm and 75mm shells for the recoilless guns stowed to the left. There was section that led the armorers, who maintained and repaired some of the regiment's heavier weapons.

"Over here, guys." They stopped when he found a box of Doron Plates, plastic armor tiles, and vests. He opened them. "This is the latest development personal protection technology, straight from labs of Unlce Sam, Doron plate armor. Inserted in inside your nylon vest it will protect you from shrapnel and sometimes the occasional bullet. It just makes it easier for the surgeon to take it out. I'll show you how to put the plates in your vest." He demonstrated to them where the slots to insert their plates are and how to put them on.

"Feeling ready to take on the Wehrmacht? Don't get cocky. It can stop a bullet if you're lucky but it mostly stop flying pieces of crap when Jerry decides to rain hell on you. If you get hit the plate only makes the doctor's job of patching you up easier. You understand?" They only nodded.

 _Why is it our replacements are this passive?_ he rhetorically. He knew the answer anyway: obedience, deference in the presence of one's betters are highly-valued in their culture, alongside excellence and introspection. It's what made the old breed of the Regiment among the best soldiers of the entire damn army, it also what partly got them shot up to pieces again and again throughout the campaign, the other being how much white America hate their guts. He used to be part of the Purple Heart Battalion, he knew what it felt like. "Hey, don't be afraid to ask the older guys. They may look like hardasses but they know how take care of you. They know the ropes, been through hell and dish out as twice much as Fritz can throw at them. Hell, a lot of us even got medals." He didn't tell them that they started with Purple Hearts.

"Yes, Corporal," they answered.

They'll have to stop speaking in unison. They're not in the parade ground anymore. He almost shook his head but decided against it.

"Who the hell let in a field trip?" The voice came out from the armory workshop. An olive-skinned man emerged.

"Nothing, Romero, just teaching these green troops a thing or two about armored protection."

"We'll the only protection they'll be needing are few condoms." Romero laughed. "They gotta need their cherries popped."

"Actually, I'm married," said Kubou.

"Married?" exclaimed Romero. " _Jesus Christo_ , congratulations! Just make sure you come back to your lovely honey in one piece, especially between your legs." The ribald comment caused Chester a hint of red. "By the way, I just repaired the M5A2." He headed back in the workshop and took out a long, heavy rifle that looked like it was made out of a .50 caliber machinegun. "Send this over to Mike at the motor pool."

"We'll do," he answered, slinging the oversized, big-bore gun on his shoulder. He turned to the face of his wards, who were astounded to see the giant rifle. "Thanks for the repair job."

"You're welcome. Get me a vintage when you get here." With that Romero ventured back to workshop to maintain weapons inside the armory.

"Impressed with the big shooter?" he asked amused. "This here's the Griffin & Howe M5A2 Williams 0.59 anti-light-armor rifle. It's a gas-action elephant gun fed from a five-round magazine. Great for hunting those Kraut supersoldiers."

"Super soldiers?" whispered a frightened Jiro. He remembered the instructional film about the lethal monsters the Germans fielded. They suggested different ways of taking them out but almost all ended about how to _never_ engage one unless they have heavier firepower with them. The trio went pale.

"Yeah, those are some big, nasty fuckers out there," he said casually, which masked his own fear about them. "Well, this one's going to the company intelligence section. You might found some over at the engineers and the Intelligence and Reconnaissance platoon but they ain't gonna lend 'em to you. I'll show how you handle a super soldier later on."

His assurance did not assuage their fears. "Welcome to the war, gentlemen. Also, I'd like you to carry for some ammo for third platoon. We'll be going out in a minute." They nodded as he directed them to boxes of ammo for them to pick up. With that they left the armory.

* * *

At Baker Company's CP, the deliberations where much more spirited.

"Alright, boys," Captain Saki ordered. "Gather around." The men got closer. "This is gonna be our last shot at this. Truman wants us open a way up Hitler's ass and into Berlin."

Corporal Keiichi's eyes went wide. "What, boss? Just the regiment?" He was the fatious kind. "Gonna get pretty hairy the harder we go." That got a chorus of laughs.

"Not the only one," said Allan Kato, "of course, we've got the Brits to our right flank along the coast and in the Balkans, and the rest of the corps going with us. We'll be serving breakfast for Hitler."

"He wants every man in the Fifth Army to grab ass and head on north. Brass couldn't get us an open door at Normandy so we need to start knocking on the doors on their faces."

"Normandy was a slaughterhouse," Takashi 'Tak' Kunimoto added. "The boys in the 28th and 4th got beaten down from Jerry."

"And Operation _Dragoon's_ a bloody slugging fest. And for all their effort the Seventh Army's being pushed back to the Riviera."

"Hope they're okay," said Raoul Takeda. "I mean we grabbed those Texans out of Col de Montgenèvre, but this is something."

"Hell of a way to throw a million against the teeth of the Wehrmacht," Mel commented. "We're stuck here in Italy and the Brits are trying to get into Austria by of the Balkans."

"No shit." Matt Hiroshi lit his Lucky Strike and flicking his Ronson closed. "I hear the Brits and Partisans are having a hard time up there. Nazis having been reinforcing their mountains flanks after they destroyed the Red Army at Kursk."

"But they're still have to contend with us. We're launching bombing missions out of Greece, Sicily, Iraq, and Syria. We've got ships in the Black Sea on station after we evacuated elements of the Red Army that refused to surrender. No, we ain't gonna make it easy on them."

"Neither would they. It's gonna like two sumo wrestlers pushing each other until one gets shoved of the ring." The analogy to the ancient sport could not have been more apt, given their situation.

"I want you boys to grab everything you need, ammo, rations, aid kits, water, extra socks and condoms." That drew some laughs. "Army wants to take Padua for good."

"And Jerry will be trying hard to keep it," pointed out Corporal Richard Saito.

"And we're gonna try harder to kick 'em off, they've got."

"Well, that might be fine and dandy if you boys are gonna leave us here," said Captain Mark Watanabe, the commander of the Regiment's attached tank company, who were left without tanks due to intensive winter combat, breakdowns, shortage in parts and a strike by Blohm & Voss P 194s. He was with his men.

"Oh yeah, sorry about that, you guys got nothing operational."

"Operational? Hell!" cried back the crusty tanker. "We've been going on every favor we could pull up, every sleazy supply clerk, every wreck with working parts we can find, every tank unit that doesn't give us shit and having spare parts to spare and still barely enough to get even one tank working for long." It was a matter of pride for the tank company since they were first Japanese-Americans trained by the army to operate tanks and fight as a tank unit, albeit for reconnaissance.

"Sure we can think something out."

"Well, tell the army to get us new tanks or parts, sitting on our ass while you boys do the fighting isn't doing us any favors." He crossed his arms to emphasize his anger over his predicament. The M24 Chaffees were well liked for their crews for its size being friendly to their mainly diminutive statures and their nimble handling in combat, better than M3/5 Stuarts with their 37mm popguns.

"There's probably a few tank units short on crews somewhere. I'm sure we can can come up with an arrangement."

"Should be someone who'll work with us," Watanabe pointed out. "We don't need additional problems from racial baggage." The specter of racism hangs over them like cobweb. Not everyone was willing to work or even acknowledge the deeds of the 442nd. This was even made worse by the debacles of Leyte and the Marianas and the Brisbane assasination of commander General Douglas MacArthur and president of the Philippine government-in-exile Manuel L. Quezon by a V1 flying bomb launched by an IJN I-boat.

Mikagi came over. "What seems to be the problem?"

Saki about faced and saluted him. "Our tankers are itching for a fight but they've got no operational tank to go."

"No working tank?" My God, didn't Regimental HQ put out their requisition order for new tanks?

"None, sir," joined in Watanabe. "Fixed them as best as we could while waited for new tanks."

"Damn," Saki noted bitterly. "They're giving armored divisions priority for new vehicles and replacements." It was a sordid fact the army still treats them low in the logistics list. While the officers discussed the tank problem Mori and the ammo-laden replacements passed them by on their way to third platoon.

"Now you boys don't worry a bit," went on Mori. "Sergeant Senrima maybe the best man in the company, possibly the entire regiment."

"Senrima?" Gotou said. "That doesn't sound anything like a Japanese name."

"It's not," spoke out Jiro. "It's the name of a legendary winged horse from China that ran a thousand miles. So swift and beautiful that no man can mount it."

"Sounds like a girl _no one_ can mount," noted Kubou. "Where did you heard of it?"

"My mother, she's Chinese. She used to tell me that story a long time ago."

"That middle name of yours makes sense," Gotou noted. "I thought your mother was some girl from the Deep South who hitched with your dad to piss off hers."

"Won't that be sweet," Maki noted. "We'll we didn't give those hicks in the South any reason to kill us."

They arrived at their platoon bivouac with soldiers resting on the ground.

"Look who just arrived," one of the earlier replacements called, "we thought you boys got shipped to Greenland."

"Just a clerical error," Jiro answered as heaved up the ammo in his arms.

"We didn't expect to show up for at least another week," said another fellow replacement.

"Sorry to disappoint, you guys," said Gotou, "but I don't think the army would like us anywhere else."

"Where else will the army put the President's Own Loyal Japanese Legion Who Ain't Smart Enough for Intelligence Work?" said Maki.

"Corporal Maki," said a third. "What's that big gun you're swinging?"

"Oh, this baby? A giant long-distance Kraut-killer," he answered. "Gonna turn it over to Amari."

"He's over at Company HQ," the third answered.

"Thanks, Satoru." He saluted casually.

"Don't mention it."

Maki turned to the trio. "You guys get settled here. Amari's date's waiting on him." He patted the shoulder strap of the elephant gun-like rifle and left off.

"So Christmas came way late this year with you guys," cheered Satoru as the trio put their burdens on a heap of ammo already nearby. They settled down and started talking with the rest of the platoon.

* * *

Inside the platoon's tent two soldiers were sitting inside, one shaving, his razor guided by the mirror reflecting his lathered face while the other was writing a letter on the table by the light of a lamp with a picture of his wife and daughter in front of him.

"Two years," said the shaving man. "Two years spent on this dump trying to regain the initiative." His eyes seemed vacant as he focused on his left temple.

"Italy's not that bad," pointed out the writer. "Food and night life are great."

The shaver chuckled. "You're right. I like the pasta and wine too but your idea of a night-out is ordering espresso and dessert, followed by having a walk in the hills gazing at the stars."

"Me and Irene met that way." The writer smiled. "She loved the stars."

"You must have her folks riled up over that." One smooth, careful stroke of the straight razor gleaned the lather and stubble off his face.

"Our folks got together and thought we made a good pair. We got married. The future seemed all set for us."

The shaver should have left at the sentiment especially the bitter taste it left in his mouth. "Some future it turned out to be."

"Yeah, it does." He felt the bitterness too, especially when what should be preparation for Christmas season came crashing down when the Empire destroyed Pearl Harbor.

The shaver noticed a change in air. He's not much of a conversationalist. "How's Clara?" He hoped to lighten the mood. He proceeded to his right temple.

"She's a prodigy." He beamed as he thought about his daughter. "She's trying out her legs now and said her first word."

"You're the luckiest man in the world, Adam." He stroked his right temple expertly. He proceeded to his chin. "You got something to go home to."

The writer finished his letter and reviewed it. "How about your barbershop at Frisco?"

"I don't think I'll be keeping it after the war. No one wants Japs around." It was another perfect glide that cleaned his face smooth.

"Yeah..." He agreed. "Don't you have any family?"

"Suwon, in Korea. A place nobody really cares about."

That got his attention. "What makes you say that?"

"Tell me if anyone cared about Poland being run over by the Nazis, besides anyone in Chicago? Or Ireland under the British?"

Adam had no answer to that. They may be Japanese but were literally a world away from their ancestral land. Most don't even know about the lands the Empire owned, just where they come from.

"I have a younger sister and my brother-in-law in Suwon," he went on. "Ever since Roosevelt froze all assets I couldn't send money back to them."

"I'm sure they're okay," Adam reassured. It was a false hope he handed over, he thought with regretfully.

"I doubt that, Lieutenant." He began to scrub his face with warm water from his helmet, acting as wash basin. "Hell, I doubt if I'll even make it through this damned war."

"Trust me, you'll make it. You're one of the best men I've ever had. You racing through that German machine gun nest to kill it and then finishing of that Jagdpanther by yourself? That's a lot of balls even for most of us."

"Another Purple Heart to my credit." Next to the mirror were a collection of Purple Hearts, alongside a Silver Star and a Distinguished Service Cross. "And a promotion to Company Sergeant."

"Most of the men look up to you, Kato."

"Someone needs to lead these boys through or they'll get killed." He wiped his face dry with a towel. To Adam his sergeant had been ground by the war into the finest instrument of warfare he had ever seen. Yet, what does he have to came back to? It seemed everything he had was slipping away with each day and each man he killed. Would there be anything left of him or for him when this is over?

A man poked his head insider. "Lieutenant Hisashi, Sergeant Senrima," he said.

Kato Senrima turned to the soldier. "What is it, Wadachi?"

"The last three replacements have arrived," he answered.

"Greennies late to the party? I'll see to them." That meant his platoon was up to full strength following the recent overhaul and expansion of their unit. He stood up.

"Yes, Sarge." The soldier backed out of the flap.

Adam Hara packed up his latest letter in his pocket and stood up. "Another day, another dollar."

"Remind me to write Truman get us a raise," he quipped lightly. Hara chuckled too. He let Senrima have a bit of sunshine.

* * *

"Third platoon, get up!" went that call that stopped the unit's lively chatter. As they got up, the platoon commander and his sergeant emerged from the tent, to whom they all stood in attention to.

"That's Lieutenant Hara and Sergeant Senrima," said one of the older guys. "They're a pair you can trust."

"What's so special about Senrima?" asked Kubou.

The lifer, annoyed, whispered back to him. "Senrima's the Barber of Tuscany. He kills Nazis with a passion."

"He can plink a German head with his Garand like it was shooting gallery," said another. "That's why he's called the Barber."

"Really?" exclaimed Jiro. "He should be made sniper."

"Sniper's not his kind of job," the first old-timer corrected. "He's cold-blooded in battle but he prefers to be in the thick of it."

"Sonovabitch just doesn't flinch in the face of enemy fire," confirmed the second.

"Jesus..." The way the sergeant carried himself seemed felt like he was a natural-born killer.

"At ease," said the lieutenant. They got back on the ground. Senrima asked one of the other replacements, who pointed over to the trio for him. They felt like the spotlight's on them. Senrima strode over to them, towering like a temple steeple. "I hear you boys are late," he began. "How come?"

They couldn't answer, what passed for answers were stutters as they tried to find the right words to explain it. Sernima had a neutral expression but they don't want to test his patience.

"Problem with our paperwork, sir," Jiro finally admitted.

"Did the army misspell your name or wrote the wrong number?" he asked.

"It was our fault, sir," Kubou admitted. He explained how he volunteering to do all of it caused the delay.

Senrima seemed uninterested. No visible emotion on his face. "Tell you what, paperwork shouldn't be much of a concern out here." The eyes then seemed to sharpen subtly. "However, anyone who doesn't take it seriously doesn't take his job seriously. You men wanna die on your first day?" His soft voice and gray tone permeated with a scraping hardness. It told him them he had no use for draftees who couldn't get it together.

A chorus of stuttering "No's" answered.

"Good. I trust you went through Infantry with flying colors. Now I ask you to use everything your taught from here on. Follow your orders and no hero stuff on your first week. That's how you survive. Understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"So how was Italy?" he asked, the question caught them off-guard.

Jiro volunteered to answer. "Well, beautiful from what we've seen so far. Just so many troops around."

"How about you?" Senrima faced Gotou.

"Well, I see a cherry blossom tree along the way. It's practically snowing petals."

He arched an eyebrow. "What you saw was an almond. They flower during the spring. Ain't no cherry blossoms here. Know the little details if you want to make it." He saluted them and went back to the Lieutenant.

"He's about as inspiring as a blizzard," Gotou noted, feeling his spirit chilling.

"At least he's all business, no bullshit," Jiro spoke out the contrary. "He's no Clark Gable, I'll tell you that."

"You know, with him in charge, we might actually survive this thing," Kubou voiced his sentiment. They and the others agreed. "But what's with his question about Italy?"

Then a flurry of orders erupted, getting everyone up, keeping him from getting an answer.

"Looks like it's time earn our pay, fellas," said an old-timer.

"Third platoon, mount up!" came Hisashi's call, clear and commanding. "Regiment's moving out!"

"You heard the lieutenant!" Senrima's voice urged, just as commanding. "Third platoon, fall in!" The platoon lifted itself to their feet with their weapons and mustered out. Two officers saw the view.

"You got yourself a score of greens, Adam," said Hinemaya.

"Yeah. The best I got, Jack." Kato looked an as they trudged to the assembly point.

"Don't sweat it. They're in good hands."

"My good hands." He sighed. "All I could think of is Irene and Clara."

"You're a good leader, Adam. You and the boys can count on each other. With luck they can start a life when this war's over."

"How can you get so optimistic at a time like this?" he asked lightly.

"Since the army made its first sensible decision by replacing Dahlquist." They both smiled. "I'll see at Padua."

"Save me some good Italian vintages when you get there."

"That's affirmative." With a pat on the back Kato moved to his platoon. The other officer was always moved whenever he sees the Regiment move into battle.

It was through them that Hinemaya was given a second chance. When the War Department called for the dismissal of all soldiers of Japanese ancestry, General Delos Emmons, the islands' military governor, disbanded the Hawaiin Territorial Guard, made up of ROTC cadres from the University of Hawaii but retaining Japanese-American soldiers of the 298th and 299th Infantry Regiment regiments of the Hawaii National Guard. The disbanded men petitioned Emmons to allow them to assist in the war effort. It was granted and they were organized into a labor unit, the Varsity Victory Volunteers, to help in constructing military infrastructure while the men of the 298th and 299th were brought stateside and organized into the 100th Hawaiin Provisional Battalion. One thing led to another and the 442nd Regimental Combat Team was born. Deployed to Italy, they've done wonders that had been gradually win over their superiors and fellow soldiers, who, for the most part, look down upon them for their race and nationality. It provided a striking, yet fitting contrast the image of the fanatical "Jap" fighting against America's sons in the Pacific and Far Eastern theaters. Here were the Nisei, men who chose to live a life different from their homeland, a separate destiny, slowly winning back their place in America.

And he was damned proud to serve with each and every one of them.

* * *

A/N: I've finally made it, my first major chapter for this fic. As you can see, considering the alternate timeline, it would feature weapons that only saw limited service in the war OTL, such as the Super-Bazooka, and the M20 75mm and M40 106mm recoilless rifles as well as jets and helicopters. I took my inspirations for the Shell Gun and United Defense M31A1/Inglis-Vickers Mk. 4 and their 40mm ammo from the Vickers S Gun mounted on Hawker Hurricane tankbusters and QF 2-pounder Pompom, turning them into something akin to our modern-day grenade launchers. The Winchester M2 Rifle is based on a cancelled replacement for the BAR using the Winchester M1 Carbine's short-stroke gas system. The Griffin & Howe M5A2 Williams 0.59 light-armor rifle came from another cancelled weapon, the Winchester-Williams anti-tank rifle.

The tension between Takasashi and Matsushima was a thought that occurred to me, of divisions among the Nisei: those born and raised as Americans and those who had traditional upbringing and/or maintained ties with their ancestral homeland of the greater differences between Japanese-Americans and Home Islanders. I also hinted of it Tanaka and Mikagi's conversation as well as why his family went over in the first place.

 _Senrima_ is a Japanized name for the Chollima or Qianlima, of Chinese myth, it literally meant _thousand-mile horse_. This legend is very much common in Korea and is naturally unheard of in Japan, the closest to it would be _Tenma_ (Chinese; _Tianma_ ), the wingless flying horse in Japanese mythology. I found the name fitting to distinguished Senrima from the others in terms of ethnic heritage and hinting of the Sōshi-kaimei policy instituted on the peninsula to force Koreans to adopt Japanese names. Who knows how many Koreans went over the ocean, albeit as Japanese subjects?

 _ **TO BE CONTINUED...**_


	3. Prologue, Part 2: Go For Broke!

**Prologue, Part 2:** **Go For Broke!**

A/N: This is the second part of the prologue. It's only possible for me to publish this because I cut out a portion of it and use that as the base of my third draft. I'm sorry for taking so long to publish this, two years in fact, but life happened. I'm already overtaken by _Wolfenstein II: New Colossus_ and its upcoming sequel _Wolfenstein: Youngblood_. Here I wrote my first action sequences for the fic as best as I could though part of me felt like it's not up to task.

* * *

Their TO&E included tanks and mobile artillery but not the M7 Priests. Instead they "received" the T19 Howitzer Motor Carriage, which were certainly better than the hand-me down M3 Gun Carriages they used previously which was nothing more than a M2 half-track with a 75mm cannon slapped on its back. They were wearing out anyway. Those were going converted to 105's, seemed Washington didn't consider them worthy of getting M7s but having some mobile artillery was better than nothing.

Their organic armored element consists of the M24 Chaffees, which were well liked for their crews for its size being friendly to their mainly diminutive statures and their nimble handling in combat, better than M3/5 Stuarts with their 37mm popguns. But mechanical attrition, combat, and low-priority supply status left them with no working tanks. That left them having to team up with a few armored elements allocated to support them. These were the 768th Tank Battalion and 679th Tank Destroyer Battalion, segregated units made up of Negroes. During their time in Italy the men whose ancestry came from a group of islands off the coast of northeastern Asia currently at war with the United States coming to America to lead a different life have bonded with men who whose ancestors were violently uprooted from Africa to serve as slaves toiling for the powerful planter families in the Deep South.

The Regiment's organic tank company was practically horseless and the lack of replacements, tanks and crew, isn't helping at all. But skilled tankers weren't meant to be put to pasture, especially in the eve of a major offensive, so the Regiment had given their blessing to Mikagi to find anyone who had spare tanks to crew. He started with a unit he knew well.

Tanaka was now at the 768th's motor pool. He noticed some new tanks parked there, their olive drab paints looking fresh, as well as a Panther tank, command version by its radio aerials, being reconditioned by busy mechanics. He went in when a black soldier stopped him. He gave him his credentials. The soldier saluted and he saluted back. He was led to the motor pool. Among the tank crews preparing was a man he knew well from earlier battles.

"Mornin'," greeted Tanaka, tipping his helmet. "I see you dragged a big cat here." He noticed the words _Just Borrowin'_ inscribed in the turret.

"Mornin' to you too, Reuben," replied Captain Moses Tyrone, whose company of Jumbo Shermans with their 76mm M1 guns would lead the assault. He was among the first crop of black officers commissioned to lead armored units. It was a pragmatic necessity: the brutal attrition of _Overlord_ had left a dearth of experienced officers and NCOs, the War Department thus have given commissions to black Americans. Not that it made their situation any sort of better among their white peers. "That's the battalion commander's ride, insists on riding with his troops than sittin' behind a desk." Fortunately, their commander was one of the few white officers who have no issue working with black officers.

"Germans left it in a hurry? They gotta be slipping."

"Not by much." The mechanics were lowering a new British diesel engine into the tank. The Germans have upgraded their vehicles to have modular engine packages which allowed quickchange for maintenance, even use captured Allied powerplants of the appropriate power. "What brings you here today?"

"Looks like we're gonna need your services again." Someone, James believed in his gut, thought about killing two birds with one stone by making the Niseis and Negros in Italy miserable by putting them together and throwing them into the meat grinder. However, both lucked out, took everything the Axis could throw at them and struck back twice as hard. Outcasts tend to stick together, especially after being thrown into the fire.

"Don't we all? Seems ours is pretty much in demand." Tyrone was no stranger to discrimination. In the Deep South the sons and daughters of slaves torn from Africa were not seen on equal terms as whites. And two different set of rules were made to keep it that way.

"I hear you guys just received some new tanks and I understand you are a little short on crews."

"That's right, fresh off the assembly line but the army decided to take a few of my guys back to Algeria to train new crews from the French colonial troops. Fritz decided to cut my troops further with his 88s during our probing action last week."

"Sorry to hear that." Must have been good men. He knew what their loss felt like.

"Well, that's war for you. Ain't no break from the fighting. I heard you boys had a new tank company."

"Currently unemployed due to action and mechanical problems," he explained with a wry tone, "not to mention the Luftwaffe cutting our company to size."

"Cleared it with battalion?" Tyrone asked.

"I'm about to but I thought I'd check it out with you first."

"I'm happy to welcome your men though the I gotta warn you, the tanks are a size too big for them."

"They can managed," he said confidently. "After Dahlquist, we can pretty much do everything." He took out a map. "We're supposed to assault this sector here on the outskirts of Padua." He pointed on the map.

"Padua? That's a tough walnut to crack." He frowned at the map. "Fritz has a lotta firepower ringed around the town."

"Padua's our first step into Vienna, unfortunately, the Fifth Army is going all out on this one."

"Which is about as about as optimistic as the last one." The last time they tried was a bust.

Tyrone fished a pack of Luck Strikes from his pocket. He took one out for himself and offered a stick to Mikagi. They both lit up and puffed. "The two us make helluva joke. We just need someone else like a Chinaman or Indian."

"Really?" asked Mikagi bemused. "Is it three different guys walk into the bar?"

"That one," Tyrone chuckled, "The Irish bar joke, never gets old. So is the Man spending lives." The mirth faded from his face.

"Never gets old." He grimaced. "Like some old attitudes in the army."

"I hear yah," he said sympathetically. He looked at the horizon. This war had been going on for them for four years but it felt like an eternity. The other thing that felt like that was how blacks and Orientals fared stateside. "Ain't chagin' much for us, things stay the same across the damn ocean."

"You're right." For a nation that prides itself in democracy and republicanism, social security for the poor and elderly and universal suffrage were fiercely resisted until recently. Only the Depression and its resulting misery made clear the need for massive government intervention, in spite of the howls and protests of the big corporations and their monied friends. This kept his respect for the late Roosevelt in spite of his approval of the order that uprooted their lives in the mainland.

"I hear Truman is planning to desegregate the army when the war's over," the black officer added.

Mikagi's face registered surprise. "I didn't hear about that."

"Don't you read _Stars and Stripes_ , James?" They've been around to know each other on a first-name basis.

"No, I usually don't read Army newspapers. I get mine delivered stateside." Mikagi never bothered to read newspapers except by those sent by his wife, something to keep him connected to her.

"Just an op-ed piece. Though he's seriously considering it."

"I wonder if he's seriously considering about doing anything for us, Moses." A dreary thought entered his mind: deportation back to the Land of the Fucking Rising Sun, back to that feudal backwater that took his grandfather's life. He never told anyone but to him the term _samurai_ meant only a killer and cultured thug.

"We have to win the war to find out. Or lose to Jerry."

"I prefer winning the war," he pointed out. "Or just this battle."

The black man chuckled. "You play baseball, Mikagi?"

"Sure, I do. I used to coach for our little league." Memories of a better time, when they thought they had it all figured out in America.

"How about after we win this, you bring over your guys to play ball."

"That be great!" The Regiment's men had few opportunities to play as of late. "We're planning to liberate the best Italian wine in the north."

"Sweet! We've been thinking the same, alongside liberating some German beer and sausages."

"You've got yourself a deal, Tyrone." They shook his vigorously. "And don't forget some sauerkraut and mustard. Goes well with the sausage."

"Don't sweat it, we'll throw in some cheese and bread. Now let's get this deal down at Battalion."

* * *

The men were thronged together as they awaited for the assault. The chatter wasn't as loud as before yet remained vigorous, knowing they'll be fighting yet again. They watched their T19 batteries and the artillery of other units blazing away at enemy positions further out. Behind them were the anti-aircraft batteries, forming a defensive formation to protect the artillery. It consisted of a few of the old M16 Multiple Gun Motor Carriages; some of the newer M21A1 Gun Carriages, based on the M10 GMC chassis, mounting twin Bofors 40mm on open turrets; the M25 AA, Canadian Skink AA tank with quad Polstens on loan to the US Army; a battery of the new M51 Skysweepers, 75mm AA with their own radar units and firing proximity-fuzed shells, meant to combat jets; and a few 90mm M3s. The remaining batteries were dependent on two radar trucks that scanned the skies for aerial threats and provided fire control.

"What are we waiting for?" Lewis Takasashi said aloud.

"Waiting for the Regiment to tell us to march," said Mori.

"Any longer," he complained, "and Jerry will cease to exist with all the artillery and air force doing the pounding. We'll be cleaning up the rubble."

"I bet Lew is late for his date with Handsome Hans," Maki said it out loud, causing a chorus of guffaws from the platoon.

"Laugh it up, fellas, but Jerry's gonna rue the day he fucked with us." In spite of his attitude, he was good as any of the old-timers still among them, if rather eager.

"Get yourself a dozen Purple Hearts while you're at it, Lew," said Higa. More laughter. "Seriously, Lew, you got a death wish or nine lives, something?" One characteristic of Lew was that he kept on escaping the aid station as soon as he got at least better, more so than others.

"Staying in the aid station is not my idea of fighting a war. Don't wanna get transferred to some intel unit in the Pacific. It's hell out there." Not to mention a chance for white yahoos to take their Japanese-related problems on him with a bull's-eye on his back.

"Well, don't you wanna go back home to your girl?" Higa asked.

"I wanna show my girl what a man I am," he said, his voice softer, more serious. "Wanna show his dad that he can count on me."

"You're serious on impressing Sakura's old man?" Higa knew that Lew and Sakura Isshin had eyes for each other but her father, Tomoda Isshin, known as Tommy by his peers, did not approve of a poor fisherman's son like Takasashi to take his daughter's hand.

"Yeah."

"I know you wanna go home a war hero for Sakura but I got a tip for you: lose that attitude, especially over Akio. It's not his fault his father is on the other side."

"I'll think about it," Lewis replied, not seeming to like the idea. All his dreams for Sakura had been destroyed by Pearl Harbor.

"Then think quickly because we're about to go to war." The conversation was heard by Akio but he said nothing. He never told anyone he stopped speaking to his father ever since he moved to America. He had it leaving under his shadow, under the weight of the family name. He also did not expect to come back at all. All he wanted was to be his own man, in a land where his family name was practically unheard of.

At Fox Company, Kubou rechecked his Remington-Browning M9 shotgun. He had qualified for it. The weapon was dual-action, which meant he can switch between pump-action and a recoil-system that relied on inertia. It held six rounds in its tubular magazine plus one in the chamber. It had a fishtailed stock which fitted neatly into his shoulder.

"That shotgun will turn any Jerry you encounter pointblank into hamburger meat," Senrima said without looking at him. "Trust in your training to get you through. Did you stock up on explosive slugs?"

"Yes, sergeant." He had three boxes' worth of shells in his musette bag, strung up in bandoliers.

"That should put a dent on anyone's day. Make sure you point it at the right people."

"Yes, sergeant." He looked to his friends, Jiro and Gotou.

"He must have heard you field-strip the thing," Jiro suggested. "Get it together."

"I am," he replied. "Just having to face super soldiers scares the crap outta me."

"Don't worry, we got Maki on the 57mm." He gestured to Maki, shouldering the 57mm recoilless rifle. The M18, a weapon firing a shell with a perforated cartridge, had some of the best accuracy and explosive power in a portable weapon. Originally an armor killer for paratroops, it was turned against super-soldiers when found ineffective against some of the latest German panzers. The weapons were held by battalion and distributed at platoon-level as needed. Now was clearly one of those times.

Heads turned to some rumbling, seeing Shermans and other vehicles move in with the mass of troops parting way like the Red Sea. They looked factory fresh, their turrets ringed with skirts of HCR2 plastic/steel armour. Also their paintjob indicated an old friend: the 768th.

"Who are those?" Jiro asked.

"The 768th, one of the best tank battalions on our side in Italy," said Maki. "I tell you, those colored boys know their way around tanks better than anyone else I know of."

"How good are they?" Gotou asked. He never knew what it was like to fight with blacks.

"They blunted the thrust of the 17th SS Panzergrenadiers during the Assumption Offensive," Private First Class Shinji Aoki said as he recalled the brutal autumn fighting. The Germans launched an offensive during the autumn of last year, on the feast day that celebrated Mary's assumption into heaven, hoping to strike another mortal blow after Normandy. As always the 442nd was pushed into the meat grinder by Dalhquist. Their conduct during the battle impressed enough brass as well as provoke an inquiry that had long since deposed the Texan from command and provided the Regiment with much needed rest and reorganization. Aoki was forever grateful for their timely deployment, any second late and he would've been crushed under that onrushing Tiger tank in his foxhole. "They helped reinforced our sector against their attacks as well as probing actions by the 11th Panzer."

"Not bad for a couple of Jim Cr-" An angry punt on the helmet cut Kubou's statement short. Aoki gave him an angry glare.

"Learn a little respect for those men, boy," he reprimanded in a hiss. "You wanna be called names like Jap or Heeb too?"

"N-n-no," he replied in a stuttering wince.

"Good. They spilled the same blood as everyone else on here, just as we did. Get your shit together." With that he returned to distantly facing the front. Kubou did not think it a big deal being called names since he encountered it all the time, some to his face but most behind his back. Sad but true. Maybe no one here liked to call other people slurs and be slurred at.

The much-reduced tank company sans their tanks came forward to meet the Negro tankers. They seem rather excited. "Hey, did the army sent us Shermans?" Keiichi asked as he stared at the Shermans.

"I don't think so," said Kunimoto. "We're low in the list for due replacements, Keiichi. Watanabe's Chafees are busted and I believe the 768th is looking for guys to fill in for their new tanks."

"Watanabe and his guys look very happy." True to point, they enthusiastically inspecting their mechanized steeds like they've won prized stallions from a horse fair. "They look like midgets," he added as the tanks dwarfed the short-statured Japanese-Americans who will man them.

"They're gonna be reaching out a lot more often." A black tanker was explaining to the Regiment's tankmen the finer points of the Sherman.

"Alright, you all know your callsigns?" he asked one last time.

"Yes, sergeant," they all answered.

"Alright, mount up." The Nisei crews climbed aboard their new steads. The black sergeant saluted the captain. "See over at Padua, sir."

Watanabe returned the salute. "See you, too sergeant. And Berlin where all the great beer is."

Then a Panther tank with US Army markings appeared, much to the surprise of the Nisei. "What's a Nazi tank doing here?" asked an astounded Gotou.

"768th has a new commander and want's to fight, it seems," Maki answered. "We don't let good, working Kraut gear rot on the scrapheap in spite of orders."

* * *

The orders came up. "Mount up! To the carriers, go, go go!" The men quickly rose up, gathered their gear, and jogged to the waiting carriers. The tankers climbed aboard their new steeds. The infantry piled aboard either on the M3 half-tracks or the newer M44 troop carriers, based on the M18 Hellcat chassis. The vehicle can hold a squad inside a fully-enclosed passenger cabin, with a roof that protects its occupants from airburst bombs and shells. It had hatches on its roof to allow men to look up and fire from the inside. Its armament consisted of an M2HB machine gun and a brand-new United Defense M31A1 auto-assault cannon, mounted together in a square turret. The auto-cannon design was a machinegun equivalent of the Federal Laboratories 40mm shell-guns they used, among the weapons developed to defeat the _Ubersoldaten_ of the Wehrmacht. Lastly, it can carry a dozen passengers. Tests of the carrier showed it can carry twice that but they improved armored protection by creating two layers of armor with a space in between at the cost of reduced capacity. It defeats the shaped-charged projectiles like the Panzerfaust and Panzershrek warheads by the outer layer dispersing the jets formed from the instantly-heated copper liners against the inner layers of armor, enhanced further with high-grade plastic armor.

Atop one carrier, the carrier troop sergeant did his impression of a train conductor for his passengers. "All-aboard! GI Amtrak leaving for Padua, Venice, Vienna, and Ber-lin~!" The soldiers took their places aboard the armored buses. For the replacements, it was an experience different from training boarding the troop carrier on their first day of action, like being inside a cattle car. Jiro swore he knew what canned meet felt like as he squeezed between Kubou and Gotou. A corporal was the last in and he shut the doors behind him. Jiro would have been horrified at enclosure if it wasn't for the top doors on the roof kept open.

Hara took his command staff aboard a half-track. It caused a flurry of jokes from some of them, calling the track an armored jeep. In truth he chose a half-track for its better visibility and low silhouette. They were exposed in its lack of a steel roof but he thought it fine: they can spring into action in a flash when needed to. From his place he observed the carriers, the tanks, other vehicles from the accompanying armored support such as the M16 and M21 AA, and the M26 Mortar Carrier, based on the M3 Stuart chassis and armed with a M2 4.2-inch mortar. With all this hardware he felt like they were ready to take on all of the German Tenth Army by themselves.

Mikagi watched his men board their carriers. How much has changed since they were first deployed they were mustered, how much has changed since they they were first deployed in Italy and in his case, as part of the 100th, the One-Puka-Puka, in France as part of _Dragoon_ , where the battalion saved 1st Battalion, 141st IR at the mountain pass of Col de Montgenèvre in an ill-conceived attempt to secure it to push the Germans out of the French-Italian border, which occurred at the same time as the Assumption Offensive where the rest of the regiment fought. He had three faded-out wounds to prove his ordeal. He prayed he makes it back to his wife and son. He had only been around when he was born. He also prayed that they all make it back, even if it seemed an impossible wish, and that things would be better once this lousy, bloody war is over.

"Cap, everyone's aboard," Tanaka said to him, bringing him out of his reverie.

"Ah, thanks, Reuben."

"Don't mention it, sir." The captain closed the door and secured it. He mounted up on one of the open hatches on top along with his sergeant. Then the armored procession began. First the tanks, then the troop carriers, and the other support vehicles. Each take their place within a column where they can maximize their protection and firepower on the march. Before long, an engine of war snaked forward to meet the enemy. They passed by other units waiting for their turn to join the coming battle.

"Hey, look, it's the 442nd coming out to fight," cheered one GI in a singsong voice. He then shouted, "You boys gettin' us any closer to Berlin?"

"No closer than what the Army's doing here," Reuben replied. "They say today's the day."

The GI paced alongside the carrier. "Bullshit!"

"Bullshit's all we got, trooper."

"Tell 'em to hurry, we don't have all year."

"I'll pass it along to Clark in Rome."

"Pass this to him too and that Limey Alexander." He flipped the bird and grabbed his crotch in a thrusting motion.

He chuckled. " _Definitely_ that." He waved him a goodbye. The banter was refreshing, no racist venom, just GI humor. In fact, they've been receiving less and less of it as each day passed by.

The armored behemoths rumbled onward, passing by marching infantry, trucks, jeeps, armor. The sounds of war drew closer as the formerly intense softening barrage was giving way to more sporadic pounding. The chatter of small-arms fire intensified as they grew closer. The passengers aboard the troop carriers can hear them with their roof doors open. Some of the men were standing atop the openings savoring the fresh air.

The armored column passed by infantry and vehicles moving to and fro. There were ambulances and stretchers for the wounded who were streaming back, the loud noise of smaller planes ripped through the spring air. Even before Operation _Taipan_ , the "static front" was hardly quiet as both sides fought a tit-for-tat battlefield made up of raids, probing actions, and artillery and airstrikes. For some of the replacements who peered from their rides, it had a surreal quality to it: it felt like a scenic route through the country or a movie set, except it's real and so was the chance of death. Two feelings, calm and tension, walked hand in hand inside of them like lovers, producing their feeling of unease. But to the veterans, very little of it surprised them. Those sights had long been common to them like a trip to work, which was what they were doing now. Above in the air they heard the drone of massed bombers, the newer men actually looked up to see the impressive air armada of Allied strategic bombers soaring forth to strike targets in Nazi territory. The old breed, however, knew the Nazis were doing the same to targets in their part of Italy as well as Greece and North Africa. Whatever the outcome there will be a lot of rubble to clear up.

* * *

"Hey sarge, what's going on up there?" Tak asked.

"15th Infantry is marching out with us," his sergeant replied, "Padua looks nice up here, with over a hundred thousand heavily-armed Wehrmacht ready to greet us like always."

"That about covers it," Mori noted as he gripped his machine gun like it was his crutch.

They passed by two Deerhound armored cars, mounting 57mm guns in sloped turrets. One of them had a hole on its turret while the other had lost a piece of its armored skirt. The replacement Nisei muttered quietly amongst themselves as they saw the cars limping back. The veterans kept mainly quite but offered a word or two of it and other sights they passed by.

The procession came behind a low rise in the land, almost a rolling ridge with infantry in their foxholes watching the line. The only fighting was done by their mortar crews, pounding the enemy that lay behind that ridge in concert with the artillery and aircraft. They didn't rise out of their holes, they were awaiting trucks bringing their relief and taking them home. The Regiment was not it, it was part of the assault force. The rise shielded their approach as they exited a vale between two hillocks. Outside was a peach orchard, which shield them further, proceeding further and further.

"All elements, this Charlie One-Four," declared the battalion commander in his purloined Panther, _Just Borrowin'_. "Proceed with assault. Rain One will lead."

"Copy that, Charlie One-Four," Tyrone acknowledged. "All tanks, this is Rain-One Actual. Form a shallow right echelon on me. When we hit the flat ground spread out to thirty yard interval. On my signal we'll drop the doughs and heavy fire power, roll up those Kraut positions. Everyone copy?"

"Red One-Three copies, Wilco," answered Red One-Three, _Prince of Wails_.

"One-Four. Roger all," affirmed One-Four, _Froggie Blue_.

"This is Five," confirmed a Nisei tanker. "We got you, _Sweet Cindy_." He referred to Tyrone's tank, nicknamed after his wife.

"This Howard One-Actual copy," declared Watanabe on the radio. "Hooking up with 3rd Battalion."

They came nearer the hedge. "All vehicles halt!" ordered Tyrone . "Get 'em off."

The word came to the carriers. "Dismount!" The Nisei emerged swiftly out of the M44s and tracks. Taking a knee, they crouched on the ground.

"Corporal Satoshi!" Mikagi called out. "You and Yamada get atop _Sweet Cindy_ , man the fifty and tank phone."

They acknowledged and clambered aboard the back. The tanks buttoned down except for the top hatch as they and the carriers marched forward. The TDs, mechanized AA, and mortar carriers hung back, spacing themselves carefully to provide fire support and minimize losses from bunching up. Mikagi drew breath as they waded into the waist-high barley.

The tanks and carriers burst through the hedges into the barley, mulching the stalks into the spring mud, the infantry climbing over the embankment and falling behind the vehicles. The only other vehicles to join them were their mortar carriers, the black battalion's Stuart-based M26 mortar carriers, with their 4.2-inchers and the Regiment's own 81mm carriers, M21 MMC configuration modified at their workshops, and a few of the AA tracks. Advancing first wave spread out as much as the fields allowed. They officially started battle, yet no bombardment, no shooting greeted them. The Germans were holding back, it seemed. On the barley field were dead hulks of vehicles, both Allied and Axis. They had just entered a wolves' den. The question is, was the wolf waiting to ambush them or was he letting them trip on their own swords?

 _BRRRRRRRDDDT!_ The sound of a buzz saw broke the silence. Tracers lit out from the barley, hitting some of the men before the rest scrambled tightly behind their armor. Then a second long burst shouted again. An MG42 lay on the grass!

Yamada fired into the general location of the machine gun with Mah Deuce, only for it to spit back at him. A carrier fired a few rounds from its M31A1, the machine gun crew erupted into sod and guts.

The barley and the hedge lit up small arms fire. "Get down! Get down!" Mikagi's order was instinctively followed the infantry as small-arms fire ripped and rent the air. Their armored escorts replied with their own machine-gun fire, followed by their big guns. Then came the roar of the anti-tank guns, followed by their shrieking high-velocity shells and the loud pop of mortars, their shells screeching through the air. The ground around them erupted into bursts of wet sod, fire, and smoke. The shells scored some hits on the Shermans and carriers. Shrapnel and slug take their toll on the men.

Huddled behind the turret of Tyrone's _Sweet Cindy_ , Satoshi peaked his head out of cover to observe the enemy line spraying gun fire all over while his companion fired the Fifty blindly. It was followed by the thump of mortar shells which exploded on the ground, the worse ones in mid-air, spraying lethal shrapnel. One 120mm shell took out the carrier _San Antonio_ , blowing the turret clear from the body in a spectacular fireball. The crew did not survive.

They stopped, Mikagi thought, they'll stall and get themselves killed. Then a thought hit him. "Satoshi!" he cried loudly. "Get some smoke into the line. German positions have got us zeroed. Do it, now!"

He nodded and hastily. He pulled out the exterior phone of the Sherman. "Smoke! I need smoke across the line! Fire Willy Pete into the tree line!"

"Roger, firing smoke." Tyrone relayed his order to both the tanks and the tank destroyers at the back to fire smoke. A few salvos of their white phosphorous shells laid a blanket that obscured the Axis view of the field.

"Get the Regiment on the horn," Mikagi ordered as his RTO handed him the phone. He repeated the order, giving target reference, and he was rewarded by their artillery adding more to the blanket of white.

Mikagi signaled the assault to continue. "They're blind! Charge through! Keep behind the tanks and protect their flanks! Go!" They only have a precious few moments before the white phosphorous burns out. Armor and infantry surged forward, closing as much distance as it can as enemy positions fired blindly at the surge, no way to direct their heavier firepower. Furthermore, a light gale was in their favor, blowing the smoke into their opponents' faces, hampering their effectiveness further.

 _Closer!_ He thought desperately as they made it a few dozen meters. Their armor wasn't idle either, firing controlled bursts into chemical fog to discourage any Germans foolhardy enough to meet them into the fog. Their mortars fired haphazardly behind, no means to correct their fire against the American assault. The infantry kept their eyes up as they have to watch out for the smarter _soldaten_ , bidding their time on the ground with an anti-tank weapon, Panzerfaust, bundle grenade, magnetic mine, while risking being crushed to death by tank treads. Some did appear but they were shot for their troubles, while other enemy infantry were ran over by the Shermans, others lost their nerves, took heel, and got shot. The Regiment kept their marksmanship and fire discipline honed a thousand times over in the course of their campaign.

 _Closer!_ Bullets were pinging against the front armor, causing a few riders to cringe. They kept to the rear while their escorts fired an occasional HE shell into the blanket of white smoke. And the blanket was dissipating.

A thunderous explosion followed by a high-pitched whistle zinged by _Sweet Cindy_. _Shit! Now_ they're _desperate_. They disappeared into the fog.

* * *

The Germans were confounded by the fog that blew into their faces. In panic most Germans took whatever they had to form a scarf on their faces to protect themselves from the stench of the white phosphorous. They only fired in scattered bursts, not knowing what to expect and conserving their heavy ordnance. No one would dare attack through this fog!

"Keep your eyes open!" A German _Leutnant_ shouted. "The Amies would among us any moment now." That they did and held their fire, more so by their confusion as well as their orders. They gripped their weapons as they waited, hoped, the smoke would thin out enough for them to see their enemy. The screams of their comrades who survived some of the stray WP shells echoed throughout the line as their flesh was burned horribly, wafting the smell of overcooked meat throughout. It was unnerving just to hear them. The rumble of armor and shouting increased. The frightened _soldaten_ , German, Croatian, and Italian, looked around for the unseen enemy, pointing at any figure forming out of the smoke. Pot shots were being fired at silhouettes.

A steel box on treads burst forth from the smoke, crumpling the barbed wire and into the first line of trenches. Its turret fired into their lines, a heavy machine-gun and an autocannon spitting forth into any positions it saw, blasting them away. A panicked draftee raised his Panzerfaust and fired into its side, causing it to stop. Quickly he tried to get away but he was stopped on his tracks by a Sherman, covered in olive-drab plastic tiles, bearing down on him, emerging out of the fog like a dragon from his mother's stories. The _Leutnant_ grabbed him. "Get your ass out of here, _dummkopf!_ " He threw him back into the trench before the bow-mounted .30 cal cut him down, his body dancing like a marionette before collapsing. The tank fired its main gun, its triumphant roar. The replacement screamed at the speed by which the violence swirled around him.

"Scheisser-!" was the last word of a _Gefreiter_ in his machine-gun emplacement before his position and crew were obliterated into a cloud of smoke, sod, and human bits. American armor fired into the enemy at pointblank range as the Regiment's troops charged into their positions. The element of surprise has been achieved and battle had been joined furiously as Allied and Axis clashed.

The armor negated the advantage the Germans held with their well-sited defenses. However, the Germans possessed Panzerfausts, Panzerschreks, recoilless guns, and hand AT mines and grenades, plus they sited their anti-tank guns further back to the rear, hitting American armor but most of their attempts defeated by exploding harmlessly on the "plastic" granite armor. But in spite of the furious defensive fire, a crucial dent had appeared, one they need to turn into a breach.

"GO FOR BROKE!" broke a blood-curdling cry, their regimental motto was repeated amongst the Nisei.

Pumped up, the first wave of Nisei rushed into the trenches under the cover of their armor and jumped in, bayonets drawn. Mikagi jumped in and hip-fired into a group of Germans, the .30-06 rounds passing through their bodies in such close-quarters, downing them. His sergeant came to his side and shoot several Germans in their foolhardy attempt to retreat to the second defensive line in the open. A third soldier tossed a grenade into a communications trench, which sent an enemy flying. They started to navigated the furious confused maze for earthenworks.

At a junction two men were gunned down by an MG42 from a prefabricated concrete-and-steel pillbox covering the entrance to another trench. "Medic!" one of them yelled, pain in his voice. The turret held its fire. It awaited new victims.

"There's a pillbox blocking our way!" Mikagi shouted. "Put some 40 on that thing." Two Nisei were diverting its attention, take potshots at it, earning bursts sending dirt clods flying.

"Got it," replied a soldier from his headquarters section. He broke open his Shell Gun like a double-barrel, slipped in a shell and snapped it back. The action was duplicated by First Platoon's grenadiers. He adjusted the sight and fired over a high angle. A thump, then two more, came and the shells scored a direct hit onto the pillbox, blowing its machine gun off. Two medics rushed over to tend to the fallen troops.

"Fritz is gone! Let's go!" Tanaka lead the charge through the trench. A gaggle of Germans emerged from a fork in the trench. His Thompson Carbine sent four of them twisting and falling to the floor. A fifth popped out again with his pistol drawn but his head snapped back, sending him against the wicker-and-wood wall with a bloody smear on it. Mikagi came behind beside him. The sergeant followed his captain. They began the grim, tedious task of clearing the first trench line. Navigating the maze of furrows full of hostile Werhmacht, trading fire until one side gave up. As neither quarter was asked nor given, the bloodletting was furious as both sides fought in the trenches that was the threshold to Padua. Baker Company gave a good account of itself as it fought its way through the labyrinth. Corporal Keiichi dodged bullets moving in the open to catch up with his platoon, jumping into them.

"That was crazy!" Kato snapped at him. "Are you looking for a spot in the _Hawaiian Herald_ obituary?"

"No more than you, Allan." They huddled behind sandbags, weathering the fire from by MG42s laid on the trench floor. Hitler's buzzsaws were really living up to their name as they stitched the sandbags. "If that bastard keeps firing we won't have any sandbags left." He fired a burst of his carbine, ducking after the Germans replied with a burst. In a sandbag parapet next to him, a machine-gunner fired his Johnson with supporting riflemen to keep their opposition from lobbing grenades but can do nothing about the MG42s.

A frightened replacement turned to Keiichi. "What?'

"Take it, easy, Private. Hans needs to change his barrels and reload, which ever comes first."

"Ain't waiting for that." Takeda took out a hand mirror and carefully angled it outward to see the Germans. Yes, they were busy blazing away at them. He kept angling, hoping for no reflection to give away the mirror. They'll shoot it out and his hand too.

"What's the situation?" Sergeant Hiroshi inquired.

"Couple of 42s, Matt, and perhaps a dozen infantry. I could see a G43, plus a few Mausers and Schmeissers."

"Alright, all riflemen, switch to 20s." The "20s" were twenty-round magazines for the Winchester M2s, issued in order to take advantage of its full-auto mod in an emergency. Everyone replaced their ten-round mags for the twenties. "Get the shell guns ready." The squad grenadier loaded his shell gun.

After a few long-bursts, rifle and SMG fire took their place as shouts came out of the Germans replacing their barrels. Some brought some Panzerfausts along. "Shit," called out Takeda. "They got Panzerfausts."

"Now! Suppressing fire!" Hiroshi's order was followed in no time, the Johnson fired a long burst and riflemen popped out to spray death into the enemy. The steam of bullets collided into the other side including the Germans. The Shell Gunners popped their weapons, the shells sailing over the ground between them and blasted several Germans away. They moved forward to secure the weapons pit. They just liberated a piece of Axis territory. More to go.

Able had hit the worst of the defense. Mikagi barely managed to secure a section of trench when a wall of firepower opened up on them "We gotta clear these trenches." He peered above and he saw the secondary defense line, machine guns, rifles, and RCLs blazing away.

"We are facing heavy resistance!" Tanaka shouted over the heavy fire. "We can't make any headway until those guns are cleared! And the Germans will dislodge us if we stay here too long."

"Think we need to call in some fireworks. Tooru, get over here!" Their radioman, Tooru Sakamichi, came over to the captain. He grabbed the phone from his set and began making the call. "This is Able-Red, Able-Red Six-actual calling for Yellow Bird, come in, Yellow Bird."

High above the skies hovering at least five hundred feet under fire from enemy flak was a lone Sikorsky-5 helo, call sign Yellow Bird, surveying the battlefield as a Forward Air Controller. He received Able's message while other helos, not FACs, zoomed to and fro to direct fire for him. "Able-Red, Yellow Bird copies, how can I help you?"

"We ran into heavy German resistance," Mikagi answered, "fortified machine-gun emplacements, anti-tank, and mortar batteries, high density fire, requesting artillery and air support before we can advance over at Grid 223-069, IO say again, we request heavy fire support at Grid 223-069."

"Copy, we are checking for targets now, calling in all available support." He then passed on his message to other liaisons and FACs, burning the airwaves. Soon, this message, along with others and countless surveying formed a picture and now they've allocated enough assets for the spearhead's request. "Able-Six Red, we need your position over to avoid friendly fire."

"Our position are to be indicated by red smoke, over."

"Roger, watching for smoke."

"Able-Six Red copies." He then declared to to his troops. "Everyone pop red smoke so our spotters can tell see us from air. Pop red smoke now!"

All his officers and NCOs took out their red phosphorus grenades, pulled the pins and and flung them over as they kept down under the heavy fire. It was a tense few seconds when the canisters spewed thick red mist that filled their fronts.

"Everyone, hold on to your helmets!" growled Tanaka. "This is gonna get loud!" A replacement next to him, strapped on his helmet and laid down. The veteran beside him chuckled at his measure of safety.

"Able-Red Six, I see your smoke, standby for fire mission. Get your people back and lay down. This is gonna be a big one." He then directed fire from air and artillery elements controlled via alert. In moments, everything available from 105 to 203, to rocket artillery and perhaps over a few hundred close-air support moved in for the kill. The ground where Able and the rest of First Battalion laid shook with each concussion produced from the bombs as shell and bomb violently rained in front of them. Artillery shells set for impact or airburst, high-explosive or white phosphorous, fragmentation bombs, Willie Pete, rockets peppering the land, and napalm took their toll on the Wehrmacht as the rolling thunder of death moved slowly further away from Able, reaching into the rear. Aircraft, from Thunderbolts, Havocs and Typhoons to Shooting Stars and Meteors, swooped in to add to the maelstrom like birds of prey, noisy in their shrieking.

For some of the replacements, they were momentarily deafened as they laid down while the veterans cautiously peered to see the destroyed vista arrayed in front of them: the idyllic vineyard, the orchards, and quaint country buildings where no longer postcard-perfect. In it were wrecked enemy positions including twisted pieces of artillery and vehicles. Then came the roar of the jets and props in their flybys, the triumphant war cries of machinery inspiring the troops, who cheered wildly at their guardian angels blazing away with their guns.

"Able-Red Six, enemy opposition neutralized for now," reported Yellow Bird, "way to Padua practically clear."

"Outstanding, Yellow Bird, outstanding. You just made Fourth of July early. Get you a case of beer for that."

"You're welcome, Able-Red. Call if you need me and give 'em hell, Yellow Bird out." With that Mikagi hung up.

"Alright, let's go! Able Company, on me!" He charged forward.

"You heard the captain!" Tanaka ordered. "Go! GO!" He and the rest of the company rushed after their captain. Armor and other infantry followed through, at last able to use their mobility and firepower on the enemy.

* * *

"Was that Able?" asked a soldier as the massive firepower display rocked the ground, the display of fire power to their left flank horrendous.

"It's Able, alright," confirmed another soldier as they brought up the flank.

Fox Company prodded into a hornet's nest. It was evidenced by the wrecked Shermans and carriers. The company found a low rise on the ground to throw themselves prone on. The men formed a skirmish line, firing and lobbing grenades at the opposition. "Alright, pop smoke!" Hara ordered as he took his smoke grenade out, pulled the pin and threw. They fired furiously while the smoke began to fill. When it filled, he yelled, "Forward!"

"Let's go, third platoon!" Senrima growled as he jumped into the smoke, followed by the rest of the platoon. The Germans had no chance to react as the Korean popped out of the smoke, jumped in, and sprayed murderous fire with his Winchester M2 Carbine on full auto. One of the Germans who survived the volley attempted to jump him with a trenching tool. Senrima blocked the attack, pushed it sideways, and gave a haymaker with the stock, sending Fritz to the ground. He pressed his magazine released lever with the lip of a fresh mag, the empty one dropped, pressed the fresh one in and pulled back the operating rod, chambering a fresh round, all in one deft motion. By then his men had jumped in. The platoon's got a foothold in the maelstrom as seemingly millions of tracers flew over their heads.

"We gotta take out that AT battery," Hisashisaid as his platoon gathered around. "Our tanks ain't going nowhere."

"Let's get some air and arty on them, sir," one of his sergeants suggested.

"We can't. We don't know how the attack is going elsewhere. We risk friendly fire. It's up to us now. We gotta clear the trenches fast." The mortar round exploded on the ground outside their trench, making his point.

"Yes, sir," they all replied as they began their current task. Third platoon began to work the trenches, facing heavy resistance. Jiro and his friends managed to make it through the barley fields and into the trench. They never expected make it this far. His back huddled against a trench wall, Jiro hyperventilated as images flooded his mind, a man shot in the head, a tank exploding into a fireball, tossing a man riding it and manning its 50s, followed by one of the tankers emerging out in flames, flailing his arms around. He never saw anything horrifying in his life. He could still hear the screaming. His hands wrung as he tried to hold his rifle. Then he saw Senrima loom in front of him, looking every bit fierce as the fearsome warrior he was reputed to be.

"What the hell are you sitting for?" he rebuked with a growl. "Get back in the war, Ishikawa!" He was pulled up by his webbing gear and forced him to stand. The sergeant forced the rifle in his hands and rushed off. Jiro took a deep breath and followed him, joining up with his squad leader.

"Keep up the fire, gents!" ordered the staff sergeant ordered. "Don't slack off." A deep scream was heard. Jiro saw a German arching his arm back. He fired into his gut but too late, his potato masher flew free.

"Grenade!" the sergeant hollered and they took whatever cover they could take. Said grenade landed in front of his face. Jiro, in panic, grabbed the grenade and threw it out of the trench, where it exploded harmlessly.

"Good thinking, Ishikawa," his squad leader congratulated. "Keep moving, don't bunch up." They all followed him. A few vigorous clashes later, they came into an entrance that led underground. The sergeant signaled them to halt. They can hear frantic German out of it. A man came out running without even looking at them, nearly giving out heart attacks. He called his troops, "Moto, Adachi." He then gestured them to throw grenades. They nodded, came forward, pulled the pins, released the safety levers, then tossed the pineapples into the entrance. Two large booms came out, followed by panicked screaming. "Kubou, Moto, Adachi, clear it out." They all rushed in.

The Germans were dazed by the powerful blast and blinded by smoke. One of them was coughing when Moto fired a burst from his M2 carbine. The German was tossed back. An rifleman pointed his Kar98k but was stitched by Adachi's carbine. They just cleared a section of the barracks. They scanned warily for more enemies. They went for an entrance that led to another section of the barracks but a burst of a Schmeisser knocked Adachi off his feet. "Shit!" Moto cursed as he fired his whole mag into the entrance, sending whatever enemy holding that position scrambling for cover. Kubou hid behind a foot locker while Moto dragged his friend backwards.

"You okay, Tom?" he asked.

"Jesus..." Adachi grunted, grimacing in pain, "felt like a sucker punch..."

"That's okay, you ain't bleeding. Thank God for Doron-"

" _Fich dich, Amerikaner!_ " The German greeting was punctuated with a Potato Masher.

"Grenade!" he cried as it landed on their spot. "Kubou, throw it back."

In terror the shotgunner did as he was ordered and flung away from the side, sending a double-cot into bits. Then Germans rushed it blazing. Moto fired his carbine, only croak dry. Kubou brought the Remington-Browning M9 to bear, depressing the trigger, sending the Germans flying away. He had set it to auto, resulting in a spectacular, if unintended, feat of firepower. A few precious seconds was all Moto needed as he grabbed his own grenade and flung it inside the entrance. It exploded with some choked screams. He grabbed his carbine and reloaded. "Kubou, on me!" The former clerk gout up and quickly fed fresh shells to his scatter-piece. They rushed in and they shot the shit out of the remaining Germans inside. The smoke cleared and they were now walking. Kubou looked around at the aftermath of their firefight was clear: lots of bodies sprawled on the floor bleeding with horrific wounds. He could only stare as the adrenaline slowly wore off.

A tap on his shoulder alerted him to Adachi, now on his feet. "You did good, kid. Don't stare at the bodies. Fight ain't over yet." He nodded in reply as Moto came out with a stack of papers in his hand.

"We hit the jackpot," he said as he tucked them into his jacket. "Regiment's gonna love this intelligence."

"Hope my knockout was worth it," groaned Adachi as he trailed his carbine along.

"Kubou, right?" asked Moto. "That was great what you did."

"Yeah." Kubou nodded in agreement.

"Load your weapon, you must have shot it all off on Jerry," he suggested. "And oh, be sure to grab an MP40 and some ammo. The M9 isn't good for fighting in a courtyard."

"Thanks." He loaded shells into his shotgun.

"Don't mention." He tapped his shoulder in reassurance. "I owe you a drink when this is over." They all filed out of the barracks but Kubou managed to grab a submachine gun, some magazines, and grenades on the way out.

* * *

Third platoon was making headway into the trenches. Their M18s and Shell Guns have given them edge needed to blast Jerry from his trenches and they were making their way to the AT batteries. However, they didn't go directly into the teeth. They found a way to flank it. Senrima emerged from a rise and saw Germans rushing over to the left in a hurry. Now he saw was an Italian Black Brigade contingent guarding the flank while the batteries fired on. Hara came over to him. "Tell me something, Kato," he requested.

"First Battalion must be doing their job right," he answered with satisfaction. "Germans are reinforcing their left flank, leaving only a bunch of Eyetie Blackshirts to protect the guns."

"Really?" He could not believe their good fortune.

"Drunk murderers don't make good soldiers," he noted coldly, remembering their handiwork in the form of hung villagers and looted homes on their march. "Second squad's keeping them busy." Their second squad was given the hardest tasking, fighting the Germans defending the quickest route to the guns.

"Let's give those fascist sonsofbitches a wake-up."

He smiled grimly. "Yes, sir."

He gestured the balance of third platoon to form up. Then they deployed accordingly. They deployed their M13A1 Johnsons against the battery, one concentrated on the Italians and the other on the battery. Their sniper took aim at the officer, who was giving orders standing up. Stupid way of managing things. The rest moved stealthily, crouched low and deployed into a skirmish line as closest as they can without being seen. They could not believe how the Black Brigadiers were not looking their way! _Stay dumb, winos_.

They pulled the pins on their grenades and tossed them over. The Italians screamed as the pineapples dropped around them. The strutting officer had a new hole on the forehead and several small bangs sent the Italians tossing. The machine guns roared, sweeping their fire at the enemy, who promptly dove for cover or were stitched down. Maki fired his M18 RCL at a PAK 38, its crew just loaded a round and the 57mm shell hit the breach, completely destroying and ripping its crew to shreds in a flash.

With a yell they charged.

Caught in a surprise flanking maneuver, the German defenders, gun crews and infantry, had little time to respond while third platoon closed the pincers. Some of the men were shot in the process by the defenders but it did not deter them as they fired and maneuvered furiously. Shell Gun, Johnson LMG, and M18 had done spectacular damage. The Black Brigade men panicked and retreated en masse through a trench, blocking the way of a German squad responding to the attack. The result was nothing less of a massacre as third platoon mercilessly cut down the Axis infantry, bullets going through several bodies before stopping, blood erupting from wounds, ending with men falling into heaps streaked with red.

They bypassed that mess and attacked another battery, who were shocked into inaction. The enemy held up their hands and gave up without a fight, frantically begging for mercy after seeing the slaughter. Screaming and some authoritative, if mess-up, German later, the guns were secure as the rest of second battalion moved further into the breach. "Han, tell the tanks they can move. Guns are secure."

R/TO Pfc. Hanada tuned in his radio to the tanks' frequency. "This is Fox Red-Six, Fox Red-Six. We have secured the guns, I repeat, we have secured the AT batteries. Tanks are cleared to go."

The message was heard loud and clear by _Hannibal_. The battalion commander smiled with satisfaction as he watched through his binoculars. The damned Japs did it again! That camp policy did an injustice for this fine troops. Now the rest of the attack can unfold. "All tanks, move forward. We've got an appointment on Padua." The tamed Panther lurched forward at its new master's coaxing.

"Rain-One Actual copies," replied _Sweet Cindy_. He then ordered his tanks to rally to support. "Gentleman, Padua's open for business." The replies where enthusiastic. They rallied to _Hannibal'_ s flanks.

"About time." Captain Watanabe gave the orders for his Shermans to move. "Be careful," he added. "Our temporary tanks are twice the weight of our Chaffees. We're assault now, not recon. Let's takes these hulks for a spin." His company, brought to full strength with 768th's replacements, acknowledged as they led Third Battalion, held in reserve until now, through the opened way. The rest of the Fifth Army allocated to them followed behind.

* * *

"Hey, Captain," asked one of his tankers. "What happens if we lose a Sherman?"

"A Sherman costs fifty-thousand dollars, all out of the pocket of the American taxpayer. Lose them and you, your children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren will be covering the loss twenty percent."

"Sounds like the old country," remarked Corporal Ichigo "Itchy" Ikeda, at the far end of their left flank.

"Definitely like the old country," agreed Kamio, "where your daughter takes the place of the family cow in America."

"Glad we got out of there, away from owing money to Yakuza thugs," enjoined Itori.

Pvt. Lewis Harper, a native to Macon, Georgia sitting in the assistant driver's position, was intrigued by the curious term. "Yak-coo-zuh? What's that?"

"Gang back in Japan, kinda like with the Italians and Irish mob in New York," explained Itori. "Nasty bunch." _You got no idea, Private Harper_.

"Okay, get off the air, we gotta a job to do," ordered Watanabe to his units. "Let's plow a road for 3rd Battalion. Yoshi, right stick." The armored juggernaut move amongst and passed the Germans with relative ease. Such a move puts armor in danger of surrounding enemy infantry but friendly dogfaces followed closely behind and the German defenders' could not coordinate their forces as their situation quickly turned to hell. GI and Werhmacht traded fire in close quarters, both sides not holding back on the violence. Here and there, a machine gun cut a bloody swathe or a grenade broke up a squad, in one ground was taken, only to be lost in the next; a random melee occurred when both sides made contact too close. However, bold use of Allied armor and surprise decided the matter already. Tank and troop carrier made short work of pockets of enemy resistance. A burst of the auto-cannon quickly did away most emplacements while the Sherman guns had the last say for many a machine gun. The infantry protected their armor's flanks, shooting at any Germans coming out to fight. Some unfortunate Axis troops found themselves greasing tank treads with their bodies. A lot of Germans began to surrender as their situation has unravelled so quickly nothing can be done about it. But they merely herded them together, leaving them for subsequent echelons to deal with. They have a city to crack open.

* * *

A/N: This work was a shot in the dark for me: I have no idea of military radio procedure or assault tactics and looked up with the best information I can find. Feel free to point out goofs in this chapter in Reviews or PM. It helps me a lot to see where I went wrong. It would help me make better action sequences in the future.

Thanks for reading,  
Anime Borat.

 _To be continued..._


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